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illustrant  la  mithoda. 


1 

2 

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32  X 


1 

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6 

i'5S4sSj;v!'^^?d:.)G3---.v '■ 


ItiOjEB  l^fmOiT, 


THE 


LIFE 


OF 


LORD    BYRON. 


BY  JOHN  GALT,  ESQ. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

E.  LITTELL,  CHESNUT  STREEl 

SUreUyped  by  L.  Joknnn. 

1830. 


3 


?::  o 


■//■  U  VJ  I 


PREFACE. 


The  letters  and  journals  of  Lord  Byron,  with 
the  interwoven  notes  of  Mr.  Moore,  should  have 
superseded  the  utility  of  writing  any  other  account 
of  that  extraordinary  man.  The  compilation  has, 
however,  not  proved  satisfactory;  and  the  conse- 
quence, almost  of  necessity,  is,  that  many  other 
biographical  portraits  of  thQ  noble  poet  may  yet 
be  expected;  but  will  they  materially  alter  the 
general  effect  of  Mr.  Moore's  work  ?  I  think  not ; 
and  have,  accordingly,  confined  myself,  as  much 
as  practicable,  consistent  with  the  end  in  view,  to 
an  outline  of  his  Lordship's  intellectual  featurefc— 
a  substratum  only  of  the  general  mass  of  his  cha- 
racter. 

If  Mr.  Moore  has  evinced  too  eager  an  anxiety 
to  set  out  the  best  qualities  of  his  friend  to  the 
brightest  advantage,  it  ought  to  be  recollected 
that  no  less  was  expected  of  him.  The  spirit  of 
the  times  ran  strong  against  Lord  Byron,  as  a 
man ;  and  it  was  natural  that  Mr.  Moore  should 
attempt  to  stem  the  tide.  I  respect  the  generosity 
with  which  he  has  executed  his  task.     I  think 

3 


■'- 


.V^ 


*  PBEFACB. 

that  he  has  made  no  striking  misrepresentation ;  I 
even  discern  but  little  exaggeration,  although  he 
has  amiably  chosen  to  paint  only  the  sunny  side : 
the  limning  is  correct;  but  the  likeness  is  too  ra- 
diant and  conciliatory. 

There  is  one  point  with  respect  to  the  subse 
quent  pages,  on  which  I  think  it  unnecessary  U 
offer  any  explanation— the  separation  of  Lord  and 
Lady  Byron.  I  have  avoided,  as  much  as  I  well 
could,  every  thing  like  the  expression  of  an  opi- 
nion on  the  subject.  Mr.  Moore  has  done  aU  in 
his  power  to  excuse  his  Lordship ;  and  Lady  By- 
ron has  protested  against  the  correctness  of  his 
statement,  without,  however,  assigning  any  reason 
for  her  own  conduct,  calculated  to  satisfy  the  pub- 
lic", who  have  been  too  indecorously,  I  conceive, 
made  parties  to  the  question. 

But  I  should  explain,  that  in  omitting  to  notice 
the  rancour  with  which  Lord  Byron  was  pursued 
by  Dr.  Southey,  I  have  always  considered  his 
Lordship  as  the  first  aggressor.  The  affair  is 
therefore  properly  comprehended  in  the  general 
observations  respecting  the  enemies  whom  the 
satire  of  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers 
provoked.  I  may  add,  further,  in  explanation, 
that  I  did  not  conceive  any  particular  examina- 
tion was  required  of  his  Lordship^s  minor  poems, 
nor  of  his  part  in  the  controversy  concernmg  the 
poetical  genius  of  Pope. 


PSEFACE.  O 

Considering  how  much  the  character  of  Lord 
Byron  has  been  in  question,  perhaps  I  ought  to 
state,  that  I  never  stood  on  such  a  footing  with 
his  Lordship  as  to  inspire  me  with  any  sentiment 
likely  to  bias  my  judgment.  I  am  indebted  to 
him  for  no  other  favours  than  those  which  a  well- 
bred  person  of  rank  bestows,  in  the  interchange 
of  civility,  on  a  man  who  is  of  none ;  and  that  I  do 
not  undervalue  the  courtesy  with  which  he  ever 
treated  me,  will  probably  be  apparent.  I  am  gra- 
tified with  the  recollection  of  having  known  a  per- 
son so  celebrated,  and  I  believe  myself  incapable 
of  intentional  injustice.  I  can  only  regret  the 
impression  he  made  upon  me,  if  it  shall  be 
thought  I  have  spoken  of  him  with  prejudice. 

It  will  be  seen  by  a  note,  relative  to  a  circum- 
stance which  took  place  in  Lord  Byron's  "onduct 
towards  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  that  Mi.  Hob- 
house  has  enabled  me  to  give  two  versions  of  an 
affair  not  regarded  by  some  of  that  lady's  relations 
as  having  been  marked  by  generosity ;  but  I  could 
not  expunge  from  the  text  what  I  had  stated,  hav- 
ing no  reason  to  doubt  the  authenticity  of  my  in- 
formation. 'The  reader  is  enabled  to  form  his  own 
opinion  on  the  subject. 

I  cannot  conclude  without  offer Jncr  mv  h^sf  nr. 
knowledgments  to  the  learned  and  ingenious  Mr. 
Nicolas,  for  the  curious  genealogical  fact  of  a  ba- 
ton sinister  being  in  the  escutcheon  of  the  Byroni 
A  2 


"  PBEPACE. 

of  Newstead.    Lord  Byron,  in  his  pride  of  birth 
does  not  appear  to  have  been  aware  of  this  stain. 

N.  B.  Since  this  work  was  completed,  a  small 
pamphlet,  judiciously  suppressed,  has  been  placed 
in  my  hands,  dated  from  the  Chateau  de  Blanai. 
SOth  August,  1825,  in  which  Mr.  Medwin  vindi! 
cates  the  correctness  oi  those  statements  in  his 
conversations  with  Lord  Byron,  which  Mr.  Hob- 
house  had  impugned  in  The  Westminster  Review. 
«ad  I  seen  it  before  expressing  my  opinion  of  Mr. 
Medwm's  publication,  I  am  not  sure  it  would  have 
m  any  degree  affected  that  opinion,  which  was 
formed  without  reference  to  the  errors  imputed 
by  Mr.  Hobhouse. 

London,  12th  August,  1830. 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction face. 

13 

CHAPTER  I. 

^pir*  J®'"'^»"^^?^'^®^^'«h-Tro"Wes  of  his  mothei-- 
Early  educaUon— Accession  to  the  tiUe.    .    .    .    .     ™°"*®'^  jg 

CHAPTER  II 

''ssj;^rii7tJ;ro^\'^r:^"-^ 

CHAPTER  in. 

"^bilJle^StTfrflrr'",- /'i°  "^in«-The  old  Loid  and  his 
S  !!l7.      ^*"  of  Carlisle  becomes  the  guardian  of  Bvron-- 

chapter  iv. 
■;hapter  v. 

'^ te of  MleZ"-*'"''"'  '■'^"<""'™  "  C.„,bridge-Hi. 

•    .    37 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Criticism  of  the  Edinburgh  Review "      ^ 

CHAPTER  Vn.  '  y 

Effect  of  the  criticism  in  the  Edinburgh  Review— Enali.h  R-^Ji  • 
and  Scotch  Reviewer^His  satietyllSon  m  tS^_^ 
fZT-  ^  ^Hfe— Takes  his  seat  in  "the  House  of  Lord^De^i^ 
for  Lisbon ;  thence  to  Gibraltar    .  Aioros— jjeparts 

•    .    .    46 

CHAPTER  Vni. 
First  acquaintance  with  Byron-Emberktogether-Thevoy,^    50 

r 


^  CONTENTS. 

{  CHAPTER  IX. 

54 

CHAPTER  X. 

Saila  from  Malta  to  Prevcsa— I^nds  nt  Pn  ■  «,i._q„i„ 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Halt  at  Zitza-The  river  Acheron-Greek  wine- A  rr«„i,  .i, 
nol^Amval  at  Tepellene-TheTSzier^  Jer    ?'f\''^-  62 

CHAPTER  XII. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

the  objecl«  of  hi^^Tnbit/'""'*'^^"'''^  ^'"''  ^^^"^^  he  pu«ued 

69 

CIIAPPER  XIV. 

78 

CHAPTER  XV. 

' /6 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

79 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

^^Visli'to'te^"'  ''^  ^«  ™°<lern  Athenians-Visit  to  Eleusis- 
o"? thalatr'''"'"''  ''  ""''^  ^"^  Kemt^a-Lost  in  th^  labyrtlil 

82 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 


CONTEiTrs. 
CHAFTER  XIX. 


0 


Occupation  at  Athena — Mount  Pentilicua — ^We  descend  into  the 
•  caverns — Return  to  Athens — A  Greek  contract  of  marriage — 
Various  Athenian  and  Albanian  superstitions — FiTect  cf  their 
impression  on  the  genius  of  the  poet 89 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Local  pleasures — Byron's  Grecian  poems — His  departure  from 
Athens — Description  of  evening  m  the  Corsair — ^The  opening 
of  the  Giaour — State  of  patriotic  feeling  then  in  Greece — Srayr- 
iKl — Change  in  Lord  Byron's  manners 93 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Smymti— The  sport  of  the  Djerid— Journey  to  Ephemis— The 
dead  city— The  desolate  country— The  ruins  and  obliteration 
of  the  temple— The  slight  impression  of  all  on  Byron     ...    98 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

Embarks  for  Constantinople—Touches  at  Tenedos— Visits  Alex- 
andria Troas— The  Trojan  plain— Swims  the  Hellespont- 
Arrival  at  Constantinople      101 

fHAPTEil  XXni. 

Constantinople— Description— The  dogs  and  the  dead— I^ded 
at  Tophana— The  masterlcss  do§*— Tlie  slave-market— The 
aeragUo— The  defects  in  the  description 106 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Dispute  v^**-  the  ambassador — Reflections  on  Byron's  pride  of 
rank— aoiuidoris  his  oriental  travels — Re-embarks  in  uie  Sal- 
sette — ^The  dagger-scene — Zea — Retu^ns  to  Athens — Tour  in 
the  Morea— Dangerous  illness — Return  to  Athens— The  adven- 
ture on  which  the  Giaour  is  founded  in 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Arrival  in  London— Mr.  Dallaa's  patronage— Arranges  for  the 
publication  of  Childe  Harold— The  death  of  Mrs.  Byron:  his 
sorrow — His  affair  with  Mr.  Moore — ^Their  meeting  at  Mr.  Ro- 
gers's house,  and  riendship 115 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

The  libel  in  the  Scourge — ^Tho  general  impression  of  his  charac- 
ters-Improvement in  his  manners  as  his  merit  was  acknow-  — 
ledged  oy  the  public — His  address  in  management — His  first 
speech  in  parliament— The  publication  of  Childe  Harold— It 
reception  uid  effect 121 


10 

CONTENTS. 
Sk.t  h         .  CHAPTER  XXVir. 

•    •    •    JS5 
A     .«,  CHAPTER  XXVIII 

J29 

Lon^  R         .  CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Growing  un^agmeasi)f  Lo^fcJ'^S;«^~Mi8fl  Milba^^ 

jgg 

Rpfl.  J'  CHAPTER  XXX. 

K^ections  on  his  domestic  verses-Pnn  -^       • 

Bwy—On  the  difference  betwp^n  r^^^'*^''  'ncidentsof  the 
expenence,  illustrated  by  th?d2K'''K  '"^^"^'^^  and  mom! 
Shakspeare  and  that  of^on     '  '^''^^'"  ^^«  ^^mW 

140 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

'^■•ISSleirf  ""-"-V-^  .he  pW„  of  w..e„„o 

146 

Bvr^n'         .  CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ISO 

S.»t.„fo  CHAPTER  XXXm. 

156 

n  CHAPTER  XXXIV 

Kemoves  to  Ravennn_-T'K«  n 

navenna-The  Countess  Guiccioli ,^ 

^f^APTER  XXXV. 
*vc3jaenc6  in  Ravenna-_Th«  r>    i, 

163 


itions—Introduce 
18  conunued  kind-, 
friends    .    .    .    J25 


ces— Piagiarisnig 


m 


^»88  Milbankfr- 
e  friar's  ghost— 
ommittee—Em- 


133 


of  his  works-J*^ 
ncidentsofthe 
tion  and  moral 
the  genius  of 
•    •    •    •    .    140 


of  Waterloo 
•   •    •    •    146 


6  glaciers- 
guilt— Simi. 
lose  express- 


150 


The  fourth 
condition— 
■on's  meta- 


156 


160 


■  m  their 

poetical 

1  Prophe- 


163 


CONTENTS.  II 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

The  tragedy  of  Sardanapalus  considered  with  referenr«  tn  i«^ 
Byron^s  own  circumstances— Cain  .  reierence  to  Lord 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

172 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

''L'fhrhS!!iU'sfc;^rf&'g^^^^^ 

his  obligations  to  l3Kn   %h-'     ""' ^  Family-Extent  of 
the  whfle  Cesf     ^>^"-Their  copartnery-JVfeanness  of 

176 

CHAPTE       XXIX. 

CHAPTER  XL. 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
^cZ^a^S^^S^flS^  t^'i Byron-Residence  at  the  --?^ 

CHAPTER  XLIL 

Writes  to  Londo^uTUie  C-To  M^vlS!:^^'""  ^^^^ 
sensions-Embarks  at  lasTfor  M^don^L™"^"^.^   '^^  ^«-,g, 

I  '  CHAPTER  XLIII. 

jLord  Byron's  conversations  on  religion  with  Dr.  Kennedy    .        195 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

ffietSKS^?;:^^;^^^^^^  Gamte's  address-^Srate. 
gate  tho  ^^-JIJ:  _^i"™--*'ndeavour8  of  Lord  flvmn  tn  m:»;. 

206 

I  CHAPTER  XLV. 


12  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

lord  Byron  appointed  to  the  command  of  three  thousand  men  to 
bcBiege  Lepanto— The  siege  abandoned  for  a  blockade— Ad- 
vanced guard  ordered  to  proceed— Lord  Byron's  first  illness— 
A  not-He  is  urged  to  leave  Greece— The  expedition  against  Le- 
panto  abandoned— Byron  dejected— A  wild  diplomatic  scheme  213 

CHAPTER  XLVn. 
The  last  ilhieas  and  death  of  Lord  Byron— His  last  poem  217 

CHAPTER  XLVm. 
The  funeral  preparations  and  final  obsequies  .......    822 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Character  of  Lord  Byron] 225 

Appendix        , 


THE 


LIFE  OF  LORD  BYRON. 


INTRODUCTION. 

My  present  task  is  one  of  considerable  difficulty ;  but  I  have 
long  had  a  notion  that  some  time  or  another  it  would  fill  to 
my  lot  to  perform  it.  I  approach  it,  therefore,  without  appre- 
hension,  entirely  in  consequence  of  having  determined,  to  my 
own  satisfaction,  the  manner  in  which  the  biography  of  so 
singular  and  so  richly  endowed  a  character  as  that  of  the  late 
liOTd  Byron  should  be  treated,  but  still  with  no  small  degree  of 
diffidence ;  for  there  is  a  wide  difference  between  determining 
a  rule  for  oneself,  and  producing,  according  to  that  rule,  a  work 
which  shall  please  the  public. 

It  has  happened,  both  with  regard  to  the  man  and  the  poet, 
that  from  the  first  time  his  name  came  before  the  public,  there 
has  been  a  vehement  and  continual  controversy  concerninir 
him;  and  the  chief  difficulties  of  tlie  task  arise  out  of  the  he^ 
with  which  the  adverse  parties  have  maintained  their  respec- 
tive opinions.  The  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed, 
until  his  accession  to  the  title  and  estates  of  his  ancestors 
were  not  such  as  to  prepare  a  boy  that  would  be  father  to  a  pru-' 
dent  or  judicious  man.  Nor,  according  to  the  history  of  his 
family,  was  his  blood  without  a  taint  of  suUenness,  which  dis- 
qualified  him  from  conciliating  the  good  opinion  of  those  whom 
his  innate  superiority  must  have  often  prompted  him  to  desire 
tor  friends.  He  was  branded,  moreover,  with  a  personal  de. 
tormity,  and  the  grudge  against  Nature  for  inflicting  this 
detect,  not  only  deeply  disturbed  his  happiness,  but  so  generally 
affected  his  feelings  as  to  imbitter  them  with  a  vindictive  senti- 
ment,  so  strong  as,  at  times,  to  exhibit  the  disagreeable  energy 
of  misanthropy.  This  was  not  all.  He  enioved  hie-h  rant 
ana  was  conscious  of  possessing  great  talents,  but  his  fortune 
was  inadequate  to  his  desires,  and  his  talents  were  not  of  an 
order  to  redeem  the  deficiencies  of  fortune.  It  Ukewise  so  hap. 
pcned  that  while  indulged  by  his  only  friend,  his  mother,  to  an 
excess  that  impaired  the  manliness  of  his  character,  her  con- 
B  13 


II     ;' 


14 


INTRODUCTION. 


ductvwas  such  as  in  no  degree  to  merit  the  affection  which 
her  wayward  fondness  inspired. 

It  is  impossible  to  reflect  on  the  boyhood  of  Byron  without 
regret  There  is  not  one  point  in  it  all  which  could,  otherwise 
tlian  with  pam,  have  affected  a  young  mind  of  sensibUity.  His 
works  bear  testimony,  that  while  his  memory  retained  the  im- 
pressions  of  early  youth,  fresh  and  unfaded,  there  was  a  gloom 
and  shadow  upon  them,  which  proved  how  litUe  they  had  been 
really  joyous.  ^ 

The  riper  years  of  one  so  truly  the  nursling  of  pride,  po- 
verty,  and  pam,  could  only  be  inconsistent,  wild,  and  impas- 
sioned,  even  had  his  temperament  been  moderate  and  well 
disciplined.    But  when  it  is  considered  that  in  addition  to  aU 
tlifl  awful  influences  of  these  fatalities,  for  they  can  receive  no 
iigiiter  name,  he  possessed  an  imagination  of  unbounded  capa- 
city— was  inflamed  with  those  indescribable  feelings  which 
constitute,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  the  very  elements  of  genius— 
teartuily  quick  in  the  discernment  of  the  darker  qualities  of 
cnaracter— and  surrounded  by  temptation— his  career  ceases 
10  surprise.     It  would  have   been  more  wonderful  had  he 
proved  an  amiable  and  well-conducted  man,  than  the  question- 
aOxe  and  extraordinary  being  who   has    alike  provoked  the 
malice  and  interested  the  admiration  of  the  world. 

Posterity,  while  acknowled.ring  the  eminence  of  his  endow- 
ments,  and  lamenting  the  habits  which  his  unhappy  circum- 
stances mduced,  will  regard  it  as  a  curious  phenomenon  in  the 
lortunes  of  the  mdividual,  that  the  progress  of  his  fame  as  a 
poet  should  have  been  so  similar  to  his  history  as  a  man. 

His  first  attempts,  though  displaying  both  originality  and 
power,  were  received  with  a  contemptuous  disdain,  as  cold  and 
repulsive  as  the  penury  and  neglect  which  blighted  the  bud- 
ding of  his  youth.    The  unjust  ridicule  in  the  review  of  his 
first  poems,  excited  m  his  spirit  a  discontent  as  inveterate  as 
the  feelings  which  sprung  from  his  deformity :  it  aff^ctad. 
more  or  less,  all  his  conceptions  to  such  a  degree  that  hs  may 
bo  said  to  have  hated  the  age  which  had  joined  in  the  derision, 
as  he  cherished  an  antipathy  against  those  persons  who  looked 
curiously  at  his  foot.    Childe  Harold,  the  most  triumphant  of 
his  works,  was  produced  when  the  world  was  kindliest  dis- 
posed  to  set  a  just  value  on  his  talents ;  and  his  latter  produc 
tions,  m  which  the  faults  of  his  taste  appear  the  broadest,  were 

..- .,„^.„  ,„„  ciiuia  as  a,  man  were  Harshest  in  the  public 

voice* 

These  allusions  to  the  incidents  of  a  life  full  of  contrarieties, 
and  to  a  character  so  strange  as  to  be  almost  mysterious,  suf- 
ficiently  show  the  difliculties  of  the  task  I  have  undertaken. 


he  afiection  which 


LIFE    OF   LORD    BYRON. 


15 


But  the  course  I  intend  to  pursue  will  relieve  me  from  the  ne- 
cessity of  entering,  in  any  particular  manner,  upon  those  de- 
batable  points  of  his  personal  conduct  which  have  been  so 
much  discussed.  I  shall  consider  him,  if  I  can,  as  his  character 
will  be  estimated  when  contemporary  surmises  are  forgotten^ 
and  when  the  monument  he  has  raised  to  himself  is  contem- 
plated  for  its  beauty  and  magnificence,  without  suggesting  re- 
collections of  the  eccentricities  of  the  builder. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Ancient  descent.— Pedigree.— Birth.— Troubles  of  his  mother.— Early 
education.— Accession  to  the  title. 

The  English  branch  of  the  family  of  Byron  came  in  with 
William  the  Conqueror ;  and  from  that  era  they  have  continued 
to  be  reckoned  among  the  eminent  families  of  the  kingdom, 
under  the  names  of  Buron  and  Biron.  It  was  not  imtil  the 
reign  of  Henry  II.  that  they  began  to  call  themselves  Byron, 
or  de  Byron. 

Although  for  upwards  of  seven  hundred  years  distinguished 
for  the  extent  of  their  possessions,  it  does  not  appear,  that  before 
the  time  of  Charles  I.,  they  ranked  very  highly  among  the  he- 
roic families  of  the  kingdom. 

Erneis  and  Ralph  were  the  companions  of  the  Conqueror  j 
but  antiquaries  and  genealogists  have  not  determined  in  what 
relation  they  stood  to  each  other,  ^^rneis,  who  appears  to  have 
been  the  most  considerable  personage  of  the  two,  held  numer- 
ous  manors  in  the  counties  of  York  and  Lincoln.  In  the 
Doomsday  Book,  Ralph,  the  direct  ancestor  of  the  poet,  ranks 
high  among  tiie  tenants  of  the  crown,  in  Notts  and  Derbyshire ; 
in  the  latter  county  he  resided  at  Horestan  Castle,  from  which 
he  took  his  title.  One  of  the  Lords  of  Horestan  was  an  hostage 
for  the  payment  of  the  ransom  of  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion ;  and 
in  the  time  of  Edward  I.,  the  possessions  of  his  descendants 
were  augmented  by  the  addition  of  the  lands  of  Rochdale,  in 
Lancashire.  On  what  account  this  new  grant  was  given  has 
not  been  ascertained ;  nor  is  it  of  importance  that  it  should  be. 

In  the  wars  of  the  three  Edwards,  the  de  Byrons  appeared 
with  some  distinction  ;  and  they  were  also  noted  in  the  time 
of  Henry  V.  Sir  John  Byron  joined  Henry  VII.  on  his  landing 
at  ^iilfo^d,  and  fought  gallantly  at  the  battle  of  Bosworth, 
against  Richard  III. ;  for  which  he  was  afterwards  appointed 
constable  of  Nottingham  Castle,  and  warden  of  Sherwood 


16 


THE   LIFE   OP 


to  him  that,  on  the  dissohiHnn  or  ♦t  ^"erwood.    It  was 

and  p,iory  of  Newsteal  in\1  ^uZ'Tn'^  '""t  '"^'^^ 
gether  with  the  manor  and  rPctorv  ofP^L  ■  ^°"^nff^am,  to. 
The  abbey  from  that  oernH  il.7  .W'^'^'^'  were  granted, 
tinued  s    t^„  it  wastfd  bj' 1^7^  ^'^  ''^"^^^^  -^*'  -d  con- 

John  B;ro\^Sm  Coll^^^^^^^^^^^  ^•%°^''-  Po-ssions.  to 

fourth,  but  wh6  was    n  fact  h?.fn  ""v'^"  ^'''^  ^^^^  his 

knighted  by  QueerElizabeth  in  H7Q''^''i^i''"  ?"'    ^e  was 

Nicholas,  served  wiS  dSt.n„^^^',u"*^  ^"'  ^^^^^t  son,  Sir 

lands.    When  the  kte  reSoXt^     '^  ^"  •'  °^  *^«  Aether- 

was  one  of  the  earliest  whn.rl^-°  ?^  ^"^'"'*  ^^^arles  l.he 

battle  of  Edffehill  wh!r«  »f  ""  ^''  '^^^^'^^e-    After  the 

self,  he  was  Tad  Vro^^^^^^^^^^^^  him! 

that  city  against  the  P«X5    ?  ^^''  ^"^  gallantly  defended 

the  brotir  and  heir  of  S^  CT*f  ^^  ^''"^-    ^ir  John  Byron, 

James  I,  made  a  Kn^^^^^^^  ^\}^^  coronatio^n  of 

Anne,  the  eldest  daughter  of   ir£aS^  M  ^^"» 

eleven  sons  and  a  daughter  Thl  .l!,  *  **  ^olyneux,  he  had 
jn.the  Netherlands.  afdTn  The Vei^'l Sr''^ ""^^^  ^'^  "»«^« 
King  Charles  I.,  Governor  if  thpVlii'  "^^  appointed  by 
ation  he  becam;obSus  to  thJ^r/'f  ^°"^?°-  ^^^  this  situ- 
bament ;  and  was  in  fon  '  refractory  spirits  in  the  Par- 

answer  it  thela  of  theTr TZ  ^t'^^  ^^  ^«  commons  to 
sectaries  alleged  against  hS.Vf*?'''  ""^^'^^^  ^^ich  the 
post  without  the  king's  command  5'  '"^^"^^  *°  '«^^«  hi« 
mons  applied  totheKd^r-  •    1'  ^"'^'  "P^'^  *hi«'  tke  Com- 

to  remove  him     The  Peers  C  fT.i''  "  P"'^'^"'^  *«  t^«  ^in?. 
On  the  24th  October    ifi3«-^**  r^r^  P'^'P^^^tion. 

JLordByronof  RocSdaL'inth;?'  •^°^'"  ?^^«»  ^as  created 
mainder  of  the  title  to  his  hlf^""*^^^.^"^^^*^^'  with  re- 
spectively.  He  was  also  marF"'?:, ''"'^  ^t^''  ™^^«  i««"e,  re- 
Majesty'[  forcesrWorcStersWrf  ;T"^^  ^T'"^  *>^«"  his 
North  Wales:  nor  were  tbllf/    ?'  Cheshire,  Shropshire,  and 

Byrons,  duringThe  dvfl  war  we^f  p'^"^  ^TT  '^"^°»'  ^^^^ 
the  battle  of  JVewburv  srven  nf  fi     K"!r"^^^«*i"ff"i«hed.  At 
anH  on  „„*:.._,    ""'"V,  seven  of  the  brothers  tiroml.,  «u-  ^..^ 
— ^_  .^,,  tttuvuiy  engaged.  "  ' '"  '"'^  "uia, 

ed  b;?ira*|-7^d  t^^^^^^^^^^^^^  Wd.  wa,  knight. 


LORD   BYRON. 


IT 


ttftemards  of  Newark,  which  he  defended  with  great  honour. 
bir  Richard,  on  the  death  of  his  brother,  in  1652,  succeeded  to 
the  peerage,  and  died  in  1679. 

His  eldest  son,  William,  the  third  Jord,  married  Elizabeth, 
the  daugther  of  Viscount  Chaworth,  of  Ireland,  by  whom  he 
had  five  sons,  four  of  whom  died  young.     William,  the  fourth 
lord,  his  son,  was  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber  to  Prince 
(reorge  of  Denmark,  and  married,  for  his  first  wife,  a  daughter 
otthe  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  who  died  eleven  weeks  after  their 
nuptials.    His  second  wife  was  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of 
rortland^by  whom  he  had  three  sons,  who  all  died  before  their 
tether.  His  third  wife  was  Frances,  daughter  of  Lord  Berkley, 
01  StrattojN  from  whom  the  Poet  is  descended.  Her  eldest  son, 
YJIu    aKVu   17.^2,  succeeded  to  the  family  honours  on  the 
death  of  his  father,  m  1736.  He  entered  the  Naval  service,  and 
became  a  I'eutenant  under  Admiral  Balchen.    In  the  year 
1763,  he  was  ma^e  Master  of  the  stag-hounds ;  and,  i.i  1765  he 
was  sent  to  the  Tower,  and  tried  before  the  House  of  Peers,' for 
Sf  ^'f  Jlf  °^  «i"^  neighbour,  Mr.  Chaworth,  in  a  duel 
fought  at  the  Star  and  Garter  Tavern,  in  Pall-mall. 
T»  «Z      ?  •         •!"'  ^'^l  naturally  boisterous  and  vindictive. 
It  appeared  m  evidence  that  he  insisted  on  fighting  with  Mr. 
Chaworth  in  the  room  where  the  quarrel  commenced.    iCy 
accordmgly  fought  without  seconds  by  the  dim  liffht  of  a  simrle 
candle;  and    although  Mr.  Chaworth  was  the  mo  t  sS 
swordsman  of  the  two,  he  received  a  mortal  wound ;  but  he 
11  JhTr"T^^^^u''''°'"  '"""^  particulars  of  the  ^encoun. 

^ku^^tr       A  r^^'^'"'''''''' i'^'y  ^"^  ^«t"^»  ^  verdict  of 
wiMuI  murder,  and  Lord  Byron  was  tried  for  the  crime. 

r.  Jnl  P^''''°  '?  Westminster  Hall,  and  the  public 

curiosity  was  so  great,  that  the  Peers'  tickets  of  admission 
were  publicly  sold  for  six  guineas  each.  It  lasted  two  day  an5 
at  the  conclusion  he  was  unanimously  pronounced  guilty  of 
manslaughter.  On  being  brought  up  for  judgment,  he^p leaded 
plVr^"^"^  Ti  ^f  discharged,  ift  wai  to  this  lord  tCSe 
Poet  succeeded,  for  he  died  without  leaving  issue. 

«  SrJjt  '  *»'  g^'-a^dfather  of  the  Poet!  was  the  celebrated 
T  r»  ^  ?^'°''  C  °''  ^  ^^^  ^'^^^'^  called  him,  "  Foulweather 
Jack,"  whose  adventures  and  services  are  too  well  knTnt^ 
require  any  notice  here.  He  married  the  daughter  of  j"hn 
Trevannion  Esq.,  of  Carhais,  in  the  countv  o^^r^nwdl   K? 

rH°S."?  flf"^  ^T*u°"«'  ^""^  ^^'^^  daughters.'  Johnithe  eldest 
and  the  father  of  the  Poet,  was  born  in  1751,  educated  at  Wes*- 
mmster-school,  and  afterwards  placed  in  the  Guards? wher; 

the  admiral,  though  a  good-natured  man,  discarded  him  long 


^-^M^priM 


18 


THE  LIFE  OF 


before  his  death.  In  1778.  he  acquired  extraordinary  eclat  bv 
the  seduction  of  the  Marchioness  of  Carmarthen,  under  ci  cum 
stances  which  have  few  parallels  in  the  licentiousness  of 
tashionable  life.  The  meanness  with  which  he  obi S  Ws 
wretched  victim  to  supply  him  with  money,  would  K  been 
disgraceful  to  the  basest  adulteries  of  the  cellar  or  garret  A 
divorce  ensued  ;  the  guilty  parties  married ;  but  withTn  two 
years  after,  such  was  the  brutal  and  vicious  conduct  of  CaT 
tain  Byron,  that  the  ill-fated  lady  died  literaUy  of  a  broken 
stm  s\r  W  ""^  "'""  '"^^  '°  '"°  daughters,^one  ^f  whom 

GiSr^'?  ?^Tu  ^^^"^  "^^'^^  ^^««  Catharine  Gordon,  of 
Gight,  a  lady  of  honourable  descent,  and  of  a  respectable  for 
tune  for  a  Scottish  heiress,  the  only  motive  which  th?  Don  Ju^" 
had  for  formmg  the  connexion.    She  was  the  mother  of  tS 

Although  the  Byrons  have  for  so  many  ages  been  amonff  the 
eminent  families  of  the  realm,  they  have  L  claim 'Xdis! 
tmction  which  the  poet  has  set  up  for  them  as  warriors  in  Pa 
lestme,  even  though  he  says—  warriors  in  ra- 

Near  Ascalon's  tow'rs  John  of  Horestan  slumbers, 
for  unless  this  refers  to  the  Lord  of  Horestan,  who  was  one  of 
the  hostages  for  the  ransom  of  Richard  I.,  it  will  not  be  easy 
to  determine  to  whom  he  alludes;  and  it  is  possible  that  S 
po^hasno  other  authority  for  this  legend,  than  the  tradition  W 
which  he  found  connected  with  two  groups  of  heads  on  the  old 
pannels  of  Newstead.  Yet  the  account  of  them  is  ZnT^t 
conjectural,  for  it  was  not  until  ages  after  the  crusades  thatX 

Se^hTtr  fi  *'^  P---ono?the  family :  and  uTs'nofpt 
bable  that  the  figures  referred  to  any  transactions  in  Palesthie 
in  which  the  Byrons  were  engaged,  if  they  were  put  up  by  tfie 
Byrons  at  all.  They  were,  probably,  placed  in  their  VJsenl 
situation  while  the  bmlding  was  in  possession  of  the  churchr^S. 
Une  of  the  groups,  consisting  of  a  female  and  two  Saracena. 
with  eyes  earnestly  fixed  upon  her,  may  have  been  the  oldT 
Siohrl         T'^^'i'^'''^  of  Susannah  and  the  elders;  the  othe^ 

httT'rT^l''  ^''■^."?"  '^'*^  ^^  ^"^°P«^"  f«"^ale  between 
him  and  a  Christian  soldier,  is,  perhaps,  an  ecclesiastical  a"  " 
gory,  descriptive  of  the  Saracen  and  the  Christian  warrior  con- 
tending  for  the  hberation  of  the  church.  These  sort  of  aJl^l 
ncal  stories  were  common  among  monastic  ornaments,  and  the 
femous  legend  of  St.  Geore-e  and  the  Dr^ann  i.  TfUcl^l'^^ 

.iegre.  o{  mrpr,»  ,h.t  .u.1,  a  p«,Mn  should  ever  hive  ten  SfliS  fa 


:traordinary  eclat  by 
rthen,  under  circum- 
e  licentiousness  of 
lich  he  obliged  his 
y,  would  have  been 
cellar  or  garret.  A 
ed;  but  within  two 
)us  conduct  of  Cap- 
iterally  of  a  broken 
[hters,  one  of  whom 

tharine  Gordon,  of 
)f  a  respectable  for.     . , 
vhich  this  Don  Juan    J 
!  the  mother  of  the 

ges  been  among  the 

no  claim  to  the  dis- 

as  warriors  in  Pa- 

n  fliutnbera. 

in,  who  was  one  of 
,  it  will  not  be  easy 
IS  possible  that  the 
than  the  tradition 
of  heads  on  the  old 
them  is  vague  and 
e  crusades,  that  the 
r :  and  it  is  not  pro- 
ctions  in  Palestine, 
were  put  up  by  the 
id  in  their  present 
I  of  the  churchmen, 
and  two  Saracens, 
ve  been  the  old  fa- 
le  elders ;  the  other, 
an  female  between 
ecclesiastical  a'N- 
istian  warrior  con- 
lese  sort  of  allego- 
)rnaments,  and  the 

...   ...iv-  v-i    tiIClU.~ 


LORD  fiYRON. 


19 


Into  the  domestic  circumstances  of  Captain  and  Mrs.  Bvron 

ThTwerr^^n'"'"*',?'"'''^"*^  ^"3^  pJtrticularinve  igS 
They  were  exactly  such  as  might  be  expected  from  the Tm 
and  olhes  of  the  most  profligate  libertine  of  the  age 

rhe  fortune  of  Mrs.  Byron,  consisting  of  various  prooertv 
and  amoun  mg  to  23,500/.,  was  all  wastfd  in  the  spacroftSi 
^ears  ;  at  the  end  of  which  the  unfortunate  lady  fS  her^Tf 
m  possession  of  only  150/.  per  annum.  ^ 

Their  means  being  thus  exhausted,  she  accompanied  her 
husband,  in  the  summer  of  1786,  to  France,  from  wK  she  re 
turned  to  England  at  the  close  of  the  year  1787rand  on  i^ 
22dof  January  1788  gave  birth,  in  Hdles-street,  London,  t^ 

J^^Jf  r^.  °!?'J-  '^'''''..^'  ^^*-     The  n^n^e  of  GorZ  ww 
added  to  tha  of  his  family,  in  compliance  with  a  c^diSTm 
posed  by  will  on  whoever  should  become  the  husCd  of  the" 
heiress  of  Gight.    The  late  Duke  of  Gordon  and  SSiel  dS? 
of  Fetteresso,  were  godfathers  to  the  child.  ^ 

In  the  year  1790,  Mrs.  Byron  took  up  her  residence  in 
Aberdeen,  whel-e  she  was  soon  after  joined^y  Capte  „Xro  " 
wi  h  whom  she  lived  in  lodgings  in  Queen-street  ;^bu  thefr T* 
union  was  comfortless,  and  a  separation  soon  took  place  StUl 
their  ruptm-e  was  not  final,  for  they  occasionX  vStid  aS^^d 

fo?^  „:!if  ^'  i  ^^*^  ^""'  ""^  °"®  occasion,  to  stay  with  him 
home"! x'^dly.'"  '^  P"^^'  «°  ^^-^^--«  ^-t  h^  was  seTt 
Byron  himself  has  said,  that  he  passed  his  boyhood  at  Mar 
lodge  near  Aberdeen ;  but  the  statement  is  nSSr^ct.  h^ 
visited,  with  his  mother,  occasionally  among  thSr  M^l'^A 
among  other  places  passed  some  time  at  pXresi  the  seLt^f 
his  godfather  Colonel  Duff.  In  1796,  aC  anXcVof  the 
for  h«  ifr^^'  ^"^'"^  r™^  ^^™«  ^t  Bdlater,  a  summer  rein 

«een  Although  the  circumstances  of  Mrs.  Byron  wero  at  Shi« 
period  exceedingly  straitened,  she  received  a  vkU  from  V^ 
husband,  the  object  of  which  was  to  extort  more  money™  ^d 
he  was  so  far  successful,  that  she  contrived  t^  L^row  a's^^ 

tyfT^ll^lf'^.t^lS.fJ^l  delivej^rof  the  Princess  of 
the  daughter  of  Egypt  driven  fnn^fh/ w^f  ,'''"'■*=''•  '^hjch  is  typified  a. 
struction  bythedrfffon  thirn.  on?  '^e  wilderness,  and  exposed  to  de- 
nowpr     I'lL  »:-.-?  "' ^^  ancient  emblem  over  all  the  easier  im~,":i 

the  Emperor,  ^nd'^timate^lv^nr^PPd^'f  "'""^  withBtood  the "attemptsof 

tionofSechurchin  Spt'^Weha^^^^^ 

«s?4\'iiS„it?d^ia^^^ 


1 


20 


THE  LIFE  OP 


tion  of  all  who  were  connecteil  with  him.  Kraunoa- 

wasSedttf  hth^^T'I  ^"  ,^'^'^'^  ""^^  unfortunate  lady 

watehfblneM  of  the  tento™t  mother.  '  *°  '°'°'  '"'' 

twelve  mor'th,;  Z  o.  tt'mhfZe^^iPtTr'S  ''-"^ 
Tro'm 'Ih-'  "^rn'r.  guinea  havi;7t^?S'fofS"« 

RoSr^/of  ti^-Lterof-^h-^ro  2fe^^^ 
SL*rdeiK-r^  -:v^vfi;SEEs 

ge.no/r-h-'oe^SAtXTtt-^^ 

-£?rehiSel^-Ctrd-i:ter:s^t 


LORD  BYHOZV. 


21 


fellowB,  many  of  whom  are  alive,  still  recollect  him  as  a  lively 

hvarm-hearted  and  high-spirited  boy,  passionate  and  resentfiu! 

but  withal  attectionate  and  companionable;  this,  however   is 

an  opmion  given  of  him  after  he  had  become  celebrated :  for  a 

very  different  impression  has  unquestionably  remained  amonir 

fcome,  who  carry  their  recollections  back  to  his  childhood.    By 

them  he  has  been  described  as  a  malignant  imp :  was  often 

I  Bpoken  of  for  his  pranks  by  the  worthy  housewives  of  the  nS 

I  K'r^;r  A  ^"-Byron's  crockit  deevil,"  and  generaUyX 

whhl      'k'^'k^'^'"^'?'^  '^^^^  ^«  '^^tained  Igainst  those 
With  whom  ho  happened  to  quarrel. 

Lt?f/^':?'A*,^  ""^  ^.i"'''"''  ^^^  ^^  ^^°'-'^'  he  succeeded  to  the 
estates  and  titles  in  the  year  ]  708 ;  and  in  the  aut  ,mn  of  that 
year,  Mrs.  Byron,  with  her  son  and  a  fathful  sorZtof  tiS 
name  of  Mary  Gray,  left  Aberdeen  for  News  ead     pTevr^irfJ 

I  ^od^Z  ^TuT'  ^"-  ^y--^^  ^°'^  '^'  «^'»it^«  of  her  his 
lod^ring  with  the  exception  of  her  little  plat,  and  scanty  IiW 

which  she  took  with  her,  and  the  whole  amouS^of  S^S 
not  yield  SKVKNTY-FivE  pouNrs. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Moral  e^cts  o"  local  scenery ;  a  peculiarity  in  ta«te.~Early  love  ~Im. 
pressions  and  traditions.  '  wve— im. 

h.ve  equalled  any  of  hisLtXil^'hA"':!::/^^ 
aMicatlon.    I„  u,e  few  reminiscences  preservfd  of  h^kM 

as  shallow,  md  betraying  great  ignorance  of  human 


S3 


TJIE  LIFE  OP 


nature,  Gcniui  of  every  kind  belongs  to  some  innate  tempera- 
ment,  It  does  not  necessarily  imply  a  particular  bent,  because 
that  m«/  possibly  be  the  effect  of  circumstances ;  but,  without 
question,  the  peculiar  quality  is  inborn,  and  particular  to  the 
individual.    All  hear  and  see  much  alike ;  but  there  is  an  art- 
definable  though  wide  difterencc  between  the  ear  of  the  mu.i 
Clan,  or  the  eye  of  the  painter,  compared  with  the  hearir  .  l..i> 
seeing  organs  of  ordinary  men;  and  it  in  in  somethinr  Jil.-p 
that  difference  in  which  genius  consists.    Genius  i ;,  hc-vve^e. 
an  ingredient  of  mind  more  easily  described  jy  itn  . ; . -cts  than 
by  its  qualities.     It  is  as  the  fragrance,  indcin .    cnt  of  the 
Au  "^f  °"''  complexion  of  the  rose ;  as  tho  light  on  the  clnut'  ; 
aithe  bloom  on  the  cheek  of  beautv,  of  which  the  possessor  is 
unconscious  until  the  charm  has  been  seen  by  its  influence  on 
others ;  it  is  the  internal  golden  flame  of  the  opal ;  a  something 
which  may  be  abstracted  from  the  thing  in  which  it  appears 
without  changing  the  quality  of  its  substance,  its  form,  or  its 
affinities.     I  am  not,  therefore,  disposed  to  consider  the  idle 
and  reckless  childhood  of  Byron  as  unfavourable  to  the' develop- 
nrient  of  his  genius  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  inclined  to  think  that 
the  mdulf  ,«nce  of  his  mother,  leaving  him  so  much  to  the  acci- 
dents  of  uadisciplined  impression,  was  calculated  to  cherish 
associations  which  rendered  them,  in  the  maturity  of  his 
powers,  ingredients  of  spell  that  ruled  his  memory. 

It  is  singular,  and  I  am  not  aware  it  has  been  before  noticed, 
that  with  all  his  tender  and  impassioned  apostrophes  to  beauty 
and  love,  Byron  has  in  no  instance,  not  even  in  the  freest  pas- 
sages of  Don  Juan,  associated  either  the  one  or  the  other  with 
^T*"  L  ™^^®^-  "^^^  extravagance  of  Shakspeare's  Juliet, 
when  he  speaks  of  Romeo  being  cut  after  death  into  stars,  that 
all  the  world  may  be  in  love  with  night,  is  flame  and  ecstasy 
compared  to  the  icy  metaphysical  glitter  of  Byron's  amorous 
allusions.    The  verses  beginnv  /,  with, 

She  walks  in  bea»t}  Mhr  i'?  ('?ht    ' 
Of  eastern  clime>  n;(j  Liany  uJes, 

is  a  perfect  example  of  what  I  have  conceived  of  his  bodiless 
admiration  of  beauty,  and  objectless  enthusiasm  of  love.  The 
sentiment  itself  is  unquestionably  in  the  highest  mood  of  the 
intellectual  sense  of  beauty ;  the  simile  is,  however,  any  thin* 
but  such  an  image  as  the  beauty  of  woman  would  suffffest.    It 

fhn  loveliness  of  a  twilight  applied  to  an  object  that  awakened 
"f  >«ime  abstract  general  idea  of  beauty.  The  fancy  which 
jodd  conceive,  in  its  passion,  the  charms  of  a  female  to  be  like 
the  glow  of  the  evening,  or  the  general  effect  of  the  midnight 


OBD  BYBUN. 


38 


ome  innate  tempera, 
ticular  bent,  became 
tancee ;  but,  without 
md  particular  to  the 
;  but  there  is  an  uri- 
the  oar  of  the  w\iJ 
irith  the  hearjr  _.  tiUi 
3  ih  Bomethiui''  Iilf« 
GeniuB  i ;,  hovveif '^ 
d  jy  itH  •  I'j'cts  than 
indc'H  .    ont  of  the 
r>  hght  on  the  clout! ; 
lich  the  possessor  is 
by  its  influence  on 
)  opal ;  a  something' 
n  which  it  appears, 
ncc,  its  form,  or  its 
3  consider  the  idlo 
•able  to  the'develop- 
clined  to  think  that 
0  much  to  the  acci- 
Iculatod  to  cherish 
e  maturity  of  his 
lemory. 

)een  before  noticed, 
►strophes  to  beauty 
n  in  the  freest  pas- 
s  or  the  other  with 
lakspeare's  Juliet, 
ath  into  stare,  that 
flame  and  ecstasy 
■  Byron's  amorous 


ed  of  his  bodiless 
ism  of  love.  The 
»hest  mood  of  the 
jwever,  any  thin«r 
rould  suggest.  It 
or  irriagiimiiuii  of 
!Ct  that  awakened 
The  fancy  which 
female  to  be  like 
;  of  tlie  midnight 


sttra,  must  have  been  enamoured  of  some  beautifUl  a^'raction 

rather  than  aught  of  flesh  and  Liood.    Poets  and  lovers  havJ 

Icompared  the  complexion  of  their  mistresses  to  the  hues  of  the 

imorning  or  of  the  evening,  and  their  eyes  to  the  do  w. drops  and 

[the  stars ;  but  it  has  no  place  in  the  feelings  of  man  to  think  of 

f-male  charms  in  the  sense  of  admiration  which  the  beauties 

t»t  the  morning  or  the  evening  awaken.  It  is  to  make  the  simile 
He  pnncipal.  Perhaps,  however,  it  may  be  as  well  to  defer  the 
nticism  to  which  this  peculiar  characteristic  of  Byron's  ama- 
)ry  effusions  give  rise,  until  wo  shall  come  to  estimate  his 
rHolr'""!;  'L*  ^\    '^^"'.  '*  "P°"  *»>«  «"bject  of  love, 
0  doubt,  much  beautiful  composition  throughout  his  works 
,  hut  not  one  line  in  all  the  thousands  which  shows  a  .oxual 
in  fte°i-  (*''"'^'«  attraction-all  is  vague  and  passionless   save 
In  the  delicious  rhythm  of  the  verse. 

\r.n!!i  ^aT  i^"'"^^>  t^o»fi:h  premature  as  criticisms,  art;  not 
uncalled  for  here,  even  while  w«  are  speaking  of  a  child  not 
ThI  ^^^"  t«J  y«"«  old.  Before  Byron  had  attained  that  a  4^ 
le  describes  himself  as  having  felt  the  passion.  Danto  is  sa  .d 
M  early  as  nine  years  old  to  have  fallen  in  love  with  Beatrice ; 
When,  who  was  himself  precocious  in  the  passion,  considered 

lorlhrfi^  ««n«ibility  to  be  an  unerring  sign  of  a  soul  forme.. 

tL  K  .  I  '^  ''  """"^  ^^"^^*  "««**  to  say  that  he  was  in  love 
Th!l  5^1/,""'  °'^:  .^"t  these  instances,  however,  prove 
Ji  n^T.  ,^^.i^-^°^«'  «*»  »t  18  called  in  the  country,  is  common ; 
i.^inn.  rf  J"''^  arise  earlier  than  in  the  bleak  and  barren 
tlThf  V^^":  ^^^'^  movement  of  juvenile  sentiment 
.  hi^hlT'^^";  '■^~^^''*  '^'^"^  masculine  avidity,  which,  in 
iH  ^i    T    f  *K  ^"u'  'I  ""'•^strained  by  the  laws  kiike  of  God 

BverTpoV  fh     •"^^'  **^'  uT^^"^  ""^  ''^'^  ^'"d  °f  ^°^«  i«  the  very 
tealthv  fJ?    ^"^Pre««'ble  passion:  it  is  a  mean,  shrinking, 

^  hSe  w^i^'h  R    ""  r  °-u'  °^/*'  .^y^iPtoms,  at  least  in  none 
^  thrbTld  ^nn^'""  J- Tl^""'  ^"'  '^  ^^^  ^"^^test  resemblance 

^ostl%rba:n^t^  ^^^^^^^^  "^^^  ^  ^^^-^^^  ^« 

IcSunT^L"?.*^"'?  ^'^^^  y^^r«  oW  when,  according  to  his  own 
IndTh^^.:  Ti:^  impassioned  attachment  to  Mary  Duff; 
te;::rf^^^^^^^^^^       --^^'  °^  hisrecoUeotion^of  her; 

.;'x^Ts£fhir^^^^ 

JneL  ""^'h  '  Tl^  "ii**'^'  ^""^  P^«"on  nor  toow'the  mlal;: 

f  a^ut  tZ   Tt"^;  '^''  •  ^l '"'''^''  "««'^  'J^^y^ to  rally 
le  about  this  childish  amour,  and,  at  last,       ny  years  afle/ 

ttL  froTF^T  '""l  '""''r  °"«  ''^y^  •  ^  ^     o^flTvel^ad 
letter  from  Edinburgh,  and  your  old  sweetheart,  Mary  Duff, 


24 


THE  LIFE  OP 


IS  marned  to  Mr.  C****.'  And  what  was  my  answer  ?  I  reallvi 
cannot  explain  or  account  for  my  feelings  at  that  moment,  but^l 
they  nearly  threw  me  into  convulsions,  and  alarmed  my  mother'-i 
so  much,  that  after  I  grew  better  she  generally  avoided  tlie  I 
subject—to  me— and  contented  herself  with  telling  it  to  all  her ' 
acquamtance."  But  was  this  agitation  the  effect  of  natural  feel- 
ing,  or  of  somethmg  in  the  manner  in  which  his  mother  may 
have  told  the  news?  He  proceeds  to  inquire.  «  Now  what  coulJ 
aI^  ^     I  had  never  seen  her  since  her  mother's /awar  pas  a' 
Aberdeen  had  been  the  cause  of  her  removal  to  l.er  grandmo  1 
ther  8  at  Banff.    We  were  both  the  merest  children!    I  had 
,7  "'^^° ''6<5"'  att-iched  fifty  times  since  that  period ;  yet  I  re 
collect  a  1  we  said  to  each  other,  all  our  caresses,  her  feature^ 
my  restlessness,  sleeplessness,  my  tormenting  my  mother's' 
maid  to  write  for  me  to  her,  which  she  at  last  did  to  quiet  mc 
J'oor  Nancy  thought  I  was  wild,  and  as  I  could  not  write  for  my 
selt,  became  my  secretary.  I  remember  too  our  walks,  and  tlit 
happiness  of  sitting  by  Mary,  in  the  children's  apartment  a  J 
their  house,  not  far  from  the  Plainstones,  at  Aberdeen,  while! 
her  lesser  sister,  Helen,  played  with  the  doll,  and  we  sat  gravelyl 
making  love  in  our  own  way.  ■' ' 

"  How  the  deuce  did  all  this  occur  so  early  ?  where  could  it 
originate  ?  I  certainly  had  no  sexual  ideas  for  years  afterwards  1 
and  yet  my  misery,  my  love  for  that  girl,  were  so  violent,  tha: 
I  sometimes  doubt,  if  I  have  ever  been  really  attached  since 
ue  that  as  it  may,  hearing  of  her  marriage  several  years  after 
wards,  was  a  thunderstroke.     It  nearly  choked  me,  to  the  hor- 
ror  ot  my  mother,  and  the  astonishment  and  almost  incredulity 
ot  every  body;  and  it  is  a  phenomenon  in  my  existence,  fori 
was  not  eight  years  old,  which  has  puzzled  and  will  puzzle  ml 
to  the  latest  hour  of  it.    And  lately,  I  know  not  why,  the  r? 
collection  (not  the  attachment)  has  recurred  as  forcibly  m 
ever:  I  wonder  /she  can  have  the  least  remembrance  of  it  oil 
me,  or  remember  pitying  her  sister  Helen,  for  not  having     ' 
admirer  too.    How  very  pretty  is  the  perfect  image  of  her  m 
my  memory.    Her  dark  brown  hair  and  hazel  eyes,  her  vcryl 
dress— I  should  be  quite  grieved  to  see  her  now.    The  realitif 
however  beaotifu  ,  w^uld  destroy,  or  at  least  confuse,  the  feJl 
^  of  the  lovely  Pen,  which  then  existed  in  her,  and  stiif^ 
vlr.  »  ""^  ^agination,  at  the  distance  of  more  than  sixteenl 

SllP.n    m*o/«rtnirhiin    nM«3     - Ai-_^?  /*•      ..  —   _ 

«l..««j"  "'^- T  "       =ji»pauicuc  anecuons  are,  as  1  havei 

IervHTC!"l'r'''*^'?uT°"  T°"^  ^^"^^«"'  ^^^  is  something 
cf.rfnnf »  f  ?°"'  ^^  '°^^°^  "P^''  ^^^^^^  but  the  extract!? 
^n^^f  ♦r  '^°'^'  ^°''  V"^y  ""^«  ^"'i  ^''^^"e  Byron's  experit 
cnce  of  the  passion  must  have  been.    In  his  recollection  ofthei 


LORD  BYRON. 


25 


,^f  thT"'       f^"yBfHbeitobserved,  there  is  nocircumstance  noticed  whichshows 
L^/-*,_''^lr"^^"^butahowever  strong  the  n^utual  sympathy,  the  sligl' et  LflueTe 

">f  particular  attraction.  He  recollects  the  colour  of  her  hair! 
the  hue  of  her  eyes,  her  very  dress,  and  he  remembers  her  as 
[al'eri.aspirit;  nor  does  it  appear  that  his  sleepless  restless- 
piess,  in  which  the  thought  of  her  was  ever  uppermost,  waa 
produced  by  jealousy,  or  doubt,  or  fear,  or  any  other  concomi- 
cant  ot  the  passion. 

Kn'^^?®,  it  ""P?*'^  ""P^*  important  circumstance  in  what  may 
be  called  the  Aberdonian  epoch  of  Lord  Byron's  life. 

i,  l;,ffl  •  ^T' '?  ^''  boyhood,  was  possessed  of  lively  .ensibilites, 

^s  sufficiently  clear ;  that  he  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  indulg- 

3  ^Jf  hjmour  and  temper  witUt  restraint,  is  not  disputablf ; 

and  that  his  natural  temperament  made  him  sensible,  in  no  or- 

Z,-Lt^''^'i  *.?•  ^^^  j^^^"''  ^^  "^^'^^^'  '^  ^I«<>  abundantly 
lanifest  in  all  his  productions  ;  but  it  is  surprising  that  this 

adniiration  of  the  beauties  of  nature  is  but  an  ingredient  in  By. 

ron  8  poetry  and  not  its  most  remarkable  characteristic.  Deep 

peelings  of  dissatisfaction  and  disappointment  are  far  more  ob- 

&l    P^  constitute,  indeed,  the  very  spirit  of  his  works,  and 

flnm  fK        ?    *^T*'*"''  '^  ^^^  ^^^'*  °f  a"  "kely  to  have  arisen 

n«Sr  A'°'t  T^^'T  °^  '"^^^"ificent  nature,  or  to  have  been 

md^dkn^L-  "J^'^F  her  storms  or  serenity ;  for  dissatisfaction 

md  disappointment  are  the  offspring  of  moral  experience,  and 

r  ZwfT^  association  with  the  forms  of  extVrnal  things. 

il.„lnrS°P  associating  morose  sentiments  with  any  parV' 

AgJular  kind  of  scenery,  only  shows  that  the  sources  of  the  sul- 

^enness  arose  in  similar  visible  circumstance^ It  is  from  these 

premises  I  would  infer,  that  the  seeds  of  Byr!n's  misanTh  S 

endcncies  were  implanted  during  the  "silent  rages'' of  hs 

^ildhood,  and  that  the  effect  of  mountain  scenery,Thich  coi- 

inued  so  strong  upon  him  after  he  left  Scotland,  p  odSg The 

frcnZn  ""''^  ^^^^\\'  ^'f  ^"^^"^'^  his  her^e^s  in  the^v^Td 
arcumstances  in  which  he  places  th'^m,  was  mere  reminiscrnce 
^nd  association     For  although  the  sull'en  tone  of  his  S  wS 

^evWeKr^h^*  m'""'"  ^^'r  ^^"^«  ^^^^'  Harold,  it^s  ye 

mow.     inoreality^f^;f"t  *rom  his  Hours  of  Idleness,  that  he  was  tuned  to 

ist  confuse,  the  feaMJJat  '.ey  before  he  went  abroad.    The  dark  colouring  of  hiB 

ted  in  her,  and  stilf  Bj^f  ^  was  plainly  imbibed  in  a  mountainous  region,  from  som- 

r  more  than  sixteen:!  ^re  heaths,  and  in  the  midst  of  rudeness  and  grLdeurSe^Td 

?i;!l'!_^5,r-jheer;ul  images,  and  .„ere  ifneUhe'rS'al'Sf 
inl^tiirsZ^f "/.  y^:^^  ^^  ^^««"^«'  ^ut  only  loneness 


^i*«»« 


nd  alarmed  my  mother^ 
generally  avoided  the 
ith  telling  it  to  all  her^i 
8  effect  of  natural  feel- 
hich  his  mother  may 
ire.  "  Now  what  could, 
mother's /otta;pa»  atj 
loval  to  li-^r  grandmo 
rest  children.     I  had, 
that  period ;  yet  I  re 
laresses,  her  features, 
lenting  my  mother's 
;  last  did  to  quiet  me 
Jould  not  write  for  my 

00  our  walks,  and  the] 
Idren's  apartment  a 
),  at  Aberdeen,  whil 
(11,  and  we  sat  gravel; 

arly  ?  where  could  ill 
for  years  afterwards! 
were  so  violent,  thai 
really  attached  since^ 
e  several  years  after  * 
loked  me,  to  the  hor^ 
id  almost  incredulity^ 

1  my  existence,  for 
i  and  will  puzzle  m, 
ow  not  why,  the  rt-:, 
irred   as  forcibly  ai 
emembrance  of  ito^ 
1,  for  not  having  ai 
feet  image  of  her  it  , 
hazel  eyes,  her  vcrjj 

now.    The  reality, 


V 


IL 


iiions  are,  as  I  have; 
in,  and  is  something 
;  but  the  extract  is 
gue  Byron's  experi 
is  recollection  of  the! 


^,  and  the  solemnity  of  mountains,  i 

^  „„«;  ^'''^  ^h*"  '"'■^  acquainted  with  the  Scottish  character  it  is 
^net^Bsary  to  suggest  how  very  probable  it  is  thafMrs  Byron 
and  her  associates  were  addicted  to  the  oral  legends  of  t£T 


■*«"■ 


26 


THE  LIFE  OF 


!f(f 


tnct  and  of  her  ancestors,  and  that  the  early  fancy  of  the  poetl 
was  nourished  with  the  shadowy  descriptions  in  the  tale^' 
olden  times;— at  Jeast  this  is  manifest,  that  although  Byron  I 
shows  little  of  tiie  melancholy  and  mourningof  Ossian,  ho  was! 
yet  evidently  influenced  by  some  strong  bias  and  congeniality 
ot  taste,  to  brood  and  cogitate  on  topics  of  the  same  character 
Hs  those  of  that  bard.     Moreover,  besides  the  probability  of 
ftis  imagination  having  been  early  tinged  with  the  sullen  hue 
<)t  the  local  traditions,  it  is  remarkable  that  the  longest  of  hisl 
.luvenile  poems  is  an  imitation  of  the  manner  of  the  Homer  ofl 
Morven.  ■ 

In  addition  to  a  natural  temperament,  kept  in  -  state  of  con. 
tjnual  excitement,  by  unhappy  domestic  incvh,:U>,  and  the^ 
lurid  legends  of  the  past,  there  were  other  causes  in  operation 
^Z'lfi  *''%y°'^"§;  poet,  that  could  not  but  greatly  affect  the 
lormation  of  his  character.  ^        J  ^ 

Descended  of  a  distinguished  family,  counting  among  iui 

ancestors  the  fated  line  of  the  Scottish  kings,  and  reducA  al-f 

mo^  to  extreme  poverty,  it  is  highly  probable,  both  from  thcl 

violence  of  her  temper,  and  the  pride  of  blood,  that  Mrs.  Byron  f 

vvould  complain  of  the  almost  ipendicant  condition  to  Whichl 

she  was  reduced,  especially  so  long  as  there  was  reason  to  fearf 

that  her  son  was  not  likely  to  succeed  to  the  family  estates  and  ' 

digmty.    Of  his  father's  lineage,  few  traditions  were  perhaps 

preserved,  compared  with  those  of  his  mother's  family ;  but  still 

enough  was  known  to  impress  the  imagination.    Mr.  Moore, 

struck  with  this  circumstance,  has  remarked,  that  « in  review- 

ing  the  ancestors,  both  near  and  remote,  of  Lord  Byron,  it  can- 

not  taxi  to  be  remarked  how  strikingly  he  combined  in  his  own 

riy^  fT  °^  ?^,  ''^'*'  ^"^  P^^'h^P^  ^o'-"*  qualities  that  lie 

scattered  through  the  various  characters  of  his  predecessors." 

«ut  still  it  IS  to  his  mother's  traditions  of  her  ancestors  that  I 

would  ascribe  the  conception  of  the  dark  and  guilty  beings 

T^aAI  f^'S^^^^  to  ?.««^ribe.    And  though  it  may  be  con- 

tended  that  there  was  little  in  her  conduct  to  exalt  poetical 

sentiment,  still  there  was  a  great  deal  in  her  condition  calcu- 

lated  to  affect  and  impel  an  impassioned  disposition.     I  can 

imagine  few  situations  more  likely  to  produce  lasting  recollec 

tions  of  interest  and  affection  than  that  in  which  Mrs.  Byron, 

with  her  only  child,  was  placed  in  Aberdeen.    Whatever  might 

*ftlr  ifr  "/i,    Jiolence  of  her  temper,  or  the  improprieties  of  her 

..  ...s,  ....c  ,on^  arm  iiiournilil  caresseii  with  which  she  used 

to  hang  over  her  lame  and  helpless  orphan,  must  have  greatly  i 

contributed  to  the  formation  of  that  morbid  sensibility  which! 

became  the  chief  characteristic  of  his  life.    At  the  sarie  time.  | 

li  It  did  contribute  to  fill  his  days  with  anguish  and  anxieUei, 


LORD  BTRON. 


early  fancy  of  the  pocf' 
3riptions  in  the  tales  o' 
itf  that  although  Byron 
rningof  Ossiaii,  ho  was 
;■  bias  and  congeniality 
of  the  same  character 
ides  the  probability  of 
ed  with  the  sulien  hue 
that  the  longest  of  his 
;anner  of  the  Homer  of 

kept  in  ^  state  of  con- 
ic  incJ-Uiits,  and  the 
er  causes  in  operation 
but  greatly  aifect  the 

,  counting  among  its^ 
lings,  and  reduced  ai.| 
obable,  both  from  the 
alood,  that  Mrs.  Byron 
It  condition  to  which 
ere  was  reason  to  fear 
the  family  estates  and| 
iditions  were  perhaps* 
her's  family ;  but  still- 
■ination.    Mr.  Moore, 
ked,  that  "  in  review- 
)fLord  Byron,  it  can 

combined  in  his  own 
orst  qualities  that  lie 
of  his  predecessors." 
*  her  ancestors  that  I 
rk  and  guilty  beings 
lough  it  may  be  con- 
uct  to  exalt  poetical 
her  condition  calcu- 
1  disposition.  I  can 
luce  lasting  recollec- 
1  which  Mrs.  Byron,  i^ 
n.    Whatever  might 

improprieties  of  her  ''^ 
with  which  siie  used 
1,  must  have  greatly , 
id  sensibility  which  I 
At  the  same  time, 
guish  and  anxietiei, 


27 


lalso  undoubtedly  assisted  the  development  of  his  powers ;  and 
mm  therefore  disposed  to  conclude,  that  although,  with  respect 
|the  character  of  the  man,  the  time  he  spent  in  Aberdeen  can 
Py  be  contemplated  with  pity,  mingled  with  sorrow,  still  it 
list  have  been  richly  fraught  with  incidents  of  inconceivable 
lue  to  the  genius  of  the  poet. 


V5^ 


CHAPTER  III. 

i.l^''L"S^r^.^^?^,":^''"'  ■* '"  ruins—The  old  lord  and  hia  beetles- 
Che  Larl  of  Carlisle  becomes  the  guardian  of  Byron— The  poet's  acute 
^nae  of  his  own  deformed  foot— His  mother  consults  a  fortuneteller. 

■BS.  Byron,  on  her  arrival  at  Newstead  Abbey  with  her 
,  found  it  almost  in  a  state  of  ruin.    After  the  equivocal 

*j  k      •  *^"^''  ^^  *^^^  ^°'^  '*^®*^  *"  absolute  seclusion,  de- 
ed  by  his  tenantry,  at  war  with  his  neighbours,  and  deserted 
all  his  family.    He  not  only  suffered  the  abbey  to  fall  into 
lay,  but,  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power,  alienated  the  land  which 
uld  have  kept  it  in  repair,  and  denuded  the  estate  of  the 
ber.    Byron  has  described  the  conduct  of  the  morose  peer 
ery  strong  terms :— "  After  his  trial  he  shut  himself  up  at 
vstead,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  feeding  crickets,  which  were 
only  companions.     He  made  them  so  tame  that  they  used 
»|rawl  over  him,  and,  when  they  were  too  familiar,  he  whip. 
MH  them  with  a  whisp  of  straw :  at  his  death,  it  is  said,  thev 
the  house  in  a  body."  ' 

[owever  this  may  have  been,  it  is  certain  that  Byron  came 
,n  embarrassed  inheritance,  both  as  respected  his  property 
the  character  of  his  race ;  and,  perhaps,  though  his  geniii 
rered  noOiing  by  the  circumstance,  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  he 
»  still  left  under  the  charge  of  his  mother ;  a  woman  without 
gment  or  self-command,  alternately  spoiling  her  child  by 
lulgence,  irritating  him  by  her  self  willed  obstinacy,  and 
lat  was  still  worse,  amusing  him  by  her  violence,  and  dis' 
stmg  him  by  fits  of  inebriety.     Sympathy  for  her  misfor- 
es  would  be  no  sufficient  apology  for  concealing  her  defects  : 
^y  undoubtedly  had  a  material  influence  on  her  son,  and  hei^ 

„    u   \"~j ,"■■  "■'■-■J'--- "'  '"=  ciiuuisn  naicuie.     She 

a  short  and  corpulent  person.    She  rolled  in  her  gait,  and 
|Uld,  m  her  rage,  sometimes  endeavour  to  catch  him  for  the 
rpose  of  inflicting  punishment,  while  he  would  run  round  the 
m,  mocking  her  menaces  and  mimicking  her  motion, 
ihe  greatest  weakness  in  Lord  Byron's  character  was  a 


38 


THE  LIFE  OF 


morbid  sensibility  to  his  lameness.    He  felt  it  with  as  mnpl.1 
vexation  as  if  it  Imd  been  inflicted  ignominy.    oTeof  themo^ 

earlv  h!  ^^'■''^'l  ^"  '""""^  memoranda  which  he  has  eft  oS 
early  days,  ig  where,  m  speaking  of  his  own  sensitiveness  on 
the  subject  of  his  deformed  foot,  he  described  tCfeeS  of 
horror  and  humiliation  that  came  over  him  when  his  3ef 
m  one  of  her  fits  of  passion,  called  him  a  "lame  brat.''  'I 

I  he  sense  which  Byron  always  retained  of  the  innocent  fault  1 
m  his  foot,  was  unmanly  and  excessive  ;  for  it  was  not  fre^vf 
conspicuous,  and  he  had  a  mode  of  walking  acroi  a lom  Sf 
Ik      i  r'  '"'"'"r'^^  ^^  '^^  perceptible.     I  was  several  davs 
2 board   he  same  shi.  with  him,  before  I  happened  to  5i  cove 
th^,  defect    It  was  indeed  so   well  concealed   that  I  wasSk 
doubt  whether  his  lameness  was  the  effect  of  a  temporarracci  I 
dem,  or  a  malformation,  until  I  asked  Mr.  Hobho2°  ^        f 
Ua  tlieir  arrival  from  Scotland,  Byron  was  ulaced  hv  hJ 
mother  under  the  care  of  an  empyri'cal  pretender  c^f  the  name  o| 
Lavender  at  Nottingliam,  who  professed  the  cure  of  such  cases 

tend  d'i''  ""^^*  rV.'^'  ^^"""^  ^"  ^^«  education,  he  wTal' 
tended  by  a  respectable  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Rogers  who  rflnJ 

parts  of  Virgil  and  Cicero  -.ith  him.'  Of  th  Siri    S 

always  entertained  a  kind  remembrance.     Nor  faf hi^reiard 

n  this  instance  peculiar ;  for  it  may  be  said  to  have  beenad^s 

Wlio  had  been  about  h::u  m  his  youth.     The  quack,  however^ 
was  an  exception ;  who  (from  having  caused  him  to  st  ffer  much 

5e  eVed Vh  7/lf  rf^"^' ""^  y°""^'  ^  ^^  then  war     ' 
aeteeted,)  he  dehghted  to  expose.     On  one  occasion  he  scribe 

Wed  down  on  a  sheet  of  paper,  the  letters  of  the  a  phaberat 
themT;^'  ?  '^'  ?™  "^  ^""'^^  ^"d  «^"t«"«e«.  and  placi '1 

tTe  little  si  S   T  i"''  /'P^^'  *"  *^*"  ^"^fi^'t^  amusement  of 
SL' ^his'sSyim!  '"^*  "^°  '  triumphantlaugh  at  the  sue 

M^Jt  ^'i"^  ^'l""^  ^."""^  *'"'  *™^'  ^^^  first  symptom  of  his  pre. 

Xee    a  uA  f"  '""^''T'*  "'^^"^^^  ^«  ^'^^«  him  some 

than  th^vnft    ^       be  generally  resented  with  more  energy 

took  lumZ  7*1«"  J^^P^'Jting  the  soul,  which  she  believed 
took  Its  flight  at  death  to  the  moon.     One  day,  after  a  reoeti 
tion  of  her  original  contumely,  he  appeared  befLT  nnS  In! 
darW  i^!f  1' ""'''^  complained  vehemently  of  the  old  lady7de."f 
broke  out  ttrthrrr  "'•  ^'f  '^''  ^*^''*  °^  ^er,  and  the^  he 
-tVer^^r^iig^^SS^^^^^^^  ^''^^'  he  repeated  over | 


felt  it  with  as  much 
iny.  One  of  the  most 
hich  he  has  left  of  his 

own  sensitiveness  on 
icribed  the  feeling  of  j 
im  when  his  mother,! 
"  lame  brat."  i 

dofthe  innocent  fault! 
for  it  was  not  greatly 
ing  across  a  room  by 
I  was  several  days! 

happened  to  discover 
Jalcd,  that  I  was  inl 
;  of  a  temporary  acci  J 

Hobhouse.  'i 

1  was  placed  by  his  I 
enderofthenameoff 
ic  cure  of  such  cases; 
;ducation,  he  was  at- 
r.  Rogers,  who  read] 
'  this  gentleman,  hoj 

Nor  was  his  regard! 
d  to  have  been  a  disj 
:ct  with  affection,  all! 
'lie  quack,  however,! 
d  him  to  suffer  much! 
as  he  then  was,  he| 
5  occasion,  he  scrib  , 
i  of  the  alphabet  at! 
itences,  and  placing! 
^  what  language  it! 
inite  amusement  off 

mt  laugh  at  the  suck"' 

..li-j 

ymptom  of  his  pre- 
Iderly  lady,  a  visiter! 
1  to  give  him  some] 
with  more  energy] 
ersonage  entertain. ; 
vhich  she  believedj 
day,  afW  arepeti.. 
before  his  nurss  in! 
of  the  old  lady,  de- 
>f  her,  and  then  he 
h  he  repeated  over] 


LORD   BYHOW.  29 

lii  NTottingham  county,  there  lives  ai  Swangreen. 
As  curs'd  an  old  lady  as  ever  was  seen  ; 
And  when  she  does  die,  which  I  hope  will  be  soon, 
bhe  firmly  believes  she  will  go  to  the  moon. 

Mrs.  Byron,  by  the  accession  of  her  son  to  the  family  honours 
and  estate,  received  no  addition  to  her  small  income ;  and  he 
bemg  a  mmor,  was  unable  to  make  any  settlement  upon  her. 
,  A  representation  of  her  case  was  made  to  government,  and  in 
[  consequence  she  was  placed  on  the  pension-list  for  300/.  a  year. 
Byron  not  having  received  any  benefit  from  the  Nottingham 
quack,  was   removed  to  London,  put  under  the  care  of  Dr. 
I  Bailey,  and  placed  ip  the  school  of  Dr.  Glennie,  at  Dulwich; 
Mrs.  Uyron  herself  took  a  house  on  Sloan  Terrace.     Modera- 
tion  in  all  athletic  exercises  was  prescribed  to  the  boy,  but  Dr. 
Wenme  had  some  difficulty  in  restraining  his  activity.    He 
was  quiet  enough  while  in  the  house  with  the  Doctor,  but 
I  no  sooner  was  he  released  to  play,  than  he  showed  as  much 
<  ambition  to  excel  in  violent  exercises  as  the  most  robust  youth 
ot  tfie  school ;  an  ambition  common  to  young  persons  who  have 
the  misfortune  to  labour  under  bodily  defects. 

While  under  the  charge  of  Dr.  Glennie,  he  was  playful,  godd- 
f  humoured,  and  beloved  by  his  companions ;  and  addicted  to 
j  reading  history  and  poetry  far  beyond  the  usual  scope  of  his 
fcage.  In  these  studies  he  showed  a  predeliction  for  the  Scrip- 
Mures  ;  and  certainly  there  are  many  traces  in  his  works  which 
ijhow  that,  whatever  the  laxity  of  his  religious  principles  may 
nave  been  in  after  life,  he  was  not  unacquainted  with  the  re- 
icords  and  history  of  our  religion. 

During  this  period,  Mrs.  Byron  often  indiscreetly  interfered 
with  the  course  of  his  education ;  and  if  his  classical  studied 
were,  m  consequenct;  not  so  effectually  conducted  as  they  might 
have  been,  his  mind  derived  some  of  its  best  nutriment  fiCm 
the  loose  desultory  course  of  his  reading. 

Among  the  books  to  which  the  boys  It  Dr.  Glennie's  school 
had  access  was  a  pamphlet  containing  the  narrative  of  a  ship. 
lyreck  on  the  coast  of  Arracan,  filled  with  impressive  deswip- 
tions.  It  haH  not  attracted  much  public  attention,  but  it  «ras 
a  favouriie  with  the  pupils,  particularly  with  Byron,  aud  fur- 
nished hnn  afte-wards  with  the  leading  circumstancsa  .n  the 
striking  description  of  the  shipwreck  in  Don  Juan. 

Although  the  rhymes  upon  the  lunar  lady  of  Notts  are  sup- 
^^lle  ^^^  j>Ben  the  hm  twitter  of  his  muse,  ho  has  said 
nimseit,  my  first  dash  into  poetry  was  as  early  oa  1800.  It 
was  the  ebullition  of  a  passion  for  my  first  cousin,  Margaret 
rarlcer.    I  was  then  about  twelve,  she  rather  older,  perhaps  a 


year. 


And  it  IS  curious  to  remark,  that  in  his  description  of 

C    4% 


30 


THE  LITE  OP 


had  b?en  matS^ rf i„Zv"  IS;  ^'^^^^^^^  -  ^^ SL 
IB  certainly  poeticaUy  expressed'  h  .Mh^  ^  '"'^  ^''^'"•"  ^his  j 
»n  Pygmalion's  passion  for  htltatt  nnH  '  ZT  T'^  '''''  '°^«  i 
den's  adoration  of  the  Apollo  '  *''°  ^""'^^»  "^ai.  I 

GI^^i:f  JSS!r^'  ^^"V?"^^^  ^'-  t-t'-  of  Dr.  i 

his  mother's  iSrence  wwTZ^ 

withdrawing  him  oftenTorseh^^^  ''"'^^^'  ^'^^  ^^P^^'^^^ly  hy  I 

was  S  ^atiabi:  fhaHt  Tn'".?^  ^"?  °^  ^^-  «^-nie,  he 

cumstance  which  iust^stL^  other  period  of  his  life,  a  cir! 

left  more  to  tlie  L-'dS^^^^^^  that  had  h;  been 

have  proved  a  better  man  -ir?  "'^'P^'^table  person,  he  would     . 

wards  became  inc^sS?^iS^£!'7''""  ""J"^  ^''  heart  aftel^ -| 

period  his  fbelinr^^l't^r'T  ^^^^^^hness,  at  this  § 

he  evinced  uncommon  aCf^nt^u",''-    ^^^^'''^^  his  nurse  i 

she  lived.    HemmZiAu'^J^'?^  ''^  cherished  as  Ion?  as  "  , 

-ssed.  and  aKSt'^  Si!"  "^^^t**^^  ^-t  h"?<:!^ 

was  only  between  seven  SeiXvearLM  ^'"^''^^^  ^'^^^  ^^ 

with  a  profusion  of  cm-linriocks  and  in  K- '  V'P''«««»ting  him 

arrow.     The  sister  of  thsVoman  h^^l    '^'f  >^"d«  a  bow  and 

after  he  had  left  ScotLni^h?ro?e  to  her' in  "'  ^"^  "T^'  ^"'^ 

tokened  a  gentle  and  sincerp  h^!!f   •  r  '  "  ^  ^P'"*  ^hich  be- 

joy  of  a  circumstance  hLhl!  t     \"'^:''"'Y'^  ^'^'  ^'^h  much 

tell  her  that  at  last  he  tf  L  his'w   'V""''^^'    '*  ^'^^  ^^ 

able  to  put  on  a  common  hni  ^  '°  ^^'  ''^"^o'^ed  as  to  bo 

would  gi've  her  greTptasure  'to' hir'Jr  T^"']^  ^''  ^^«  «»re 

ffme  an    i„,ij  J^  which  couidhLhT'      '' ''  ^'^'"'*  *«  i'"^- 

I  dwell  with  sati^faPfJ^!       ^     ^^^^  ^^^^  gratifying. 

dispositions7t,"drh':^^^^^^^  ,tt""T"^  .^^  ^' '-^^^ 

Similar  warm-heartedness  in  hU  f  f  "^^"^'"^  instances  of 
formed  any  attachmel  so  pure  an^  ami.^hr'A '"I  ^^  "^-^• 
Harrow.     The  change  of  life  rami  ^u-  ^^"^  ^^  ^^^"^  *» 

vegetable  period  of  bo^hc^d  wL  na^t  Z'  ^''"'i  ""'^  ^'-«"  *''« 

&--^,  wiS/hiS;7S?rii^^^^^  9^el. 

-""=  xcoaiiea  to  Ijis  momorv  h;«  or,,-^ —      •  "=  ^^  "«;  iixaiveni 


I.ORD  BYRON. 


:  of  animni  admiration 
le  says  of  her — 
?  equal  to  the  transpa. 
etncss  of  her  temper, 
:  she  looked  as  if  she 
ity  and  peace."  This 
ire  was  more  true  love  * 
i  m  the  Parisian  mai.  I 

ider  the  tuition  of  Dr.  j 
ifly  in  consequence  of  I 
ips,  and  especially  by  '9 

re  of  Dr.  Glennie,  he 
nod  of  his  life,  a  cir. 
n,  that  had  he  been 
Lble  person,  he  would 
luch  his  heart  after-  -m 
of  selfishness,  at  this  | 
Towards  his  nurse  ' 
cherished  as  long  as 
Itch,  the  first  he  pos.  -'* 
)f  himself,  when  he 
Id,  representing  him  ' 
us  hands  a  bow  and 
I  his  first  nurse,  and 
in  a  spirit  which  be- 
ling  her  with  much 
himself     It  was  to 
far  restored  as  to  be 
which  he  was  sure 
It  is  difficult  to  ima- 
ore  gratifying, 
iptions  of  his  early 
anting  instances  of 
!ars,  still  he  never 
Je  after  he  went  to  M 
liim,  and  when  the 
imal  passions  mas. 
r. 

lis  mother  to  Chel. 


31 


sy  reromd  him  of  the  mountains  where  he  passed  his  child, 
xl,  19  no  proof  that  he  is  already  in  heart  and  imagination  a 

tL  S!rPr?'%' «'  *°  ""-'^"^^  *"'  materials  for  the  building. 
ihe  delight  of  Byron  m  contemplating  the  Malvern  hills. 
IS  not  because  they  resembled  the  scenery  of  Lochynaeer 
,!!'",?  ^- '^  ^7.^,"  *'■'"''  "^  *'^""^^^*  and  fancy,  asiociated 

1  recollections  nf  tin  f   sPOnor,T        r|,i,„ X  .1        /.     ,. 


litu  w,    11     X-  •'      n.V  "'"u)i;iii.  ttiiu  lancy,  associate 

hth  recollections  of  that  scenery.     The  poesy  of  the  feeling 


1         ^  .      ,      . -X.V...W.J,.      i,n;  uoesv  oi  iJie  leeli 

y  not  in  tlie  beauty  of  the  objects,  but  in  the  moral  effect  of 
fmn,     ^"^u'      '""^""^^  *''^'^  "^J"^^'  «"^«d  as  talismans  of  the 
tT«T'   T^      '''"^-  ''•  '""'^*  reminded  him  of  the  Highlands, 
at  It  was  those  reminiscences  which  similar  scenes  recalled 

to  L  rXf  n1  \rP^\''^  ^J"«h  gave  life  and  elevatfon 
5  his  reflections.  There  is  not  more  poesy  in  the  sijrht  of 
^ountams  than  of  plains ;  it  is  the  locd  aSociatLs  thaUhrow 
iilchantment  over  all  scenes,  and  resemblance  that  awaK 
lem  binding  them  to  new  connexions :  nor  does  thfs  Zft  of 
uch  controversy;  for  mountainous  regions,  however  favoi^. 
ble  to  miisical  feeling,  are  but  little  to  poetical. 

poets    nor V^^^^^^^     '""'T'  ^^'"^ '  '^'  ^^'''  »^^^«  "°  ^«"°^n 
poeis  ,  nor  are  the  mountainous  regions  of  Greece,  or  of  the 

.penmnes,  celebrated  for  poetry.    The  Highlands  of  Scotland 

•^^?ar-'r:d^  ^f^'^^  ''•  °^^'^"'  ^^'^  produced  noTet 
any  fame;  and  yet  mountainous  countries  abound  in  local 

K'nrt^'\^°"'i"'T  ''r  '^  ^'  variance  wirthtopiib^ 
Slfrv  rf  ?'  \^r^^  ^  '^""°*  «^PJ^i»  the  cause,  tha 
S?nf.^  •^\*'^''  ^•''^^  language,  or  local  melody,  is  in  pronor- 

td  Lt Zun  If  "^t""'  ^'"^T  '""^  ^^^^  inh^bitaL^Tak 
?orld  Th.  n  A  '"vT""  ^"  "^^  sentiments  of  the  general 
*rs  ts  tame  i^T'     '  ^^''f ''  *^'  "^''^^  ^^^^^^rated  of  all  locS 

ose  of  Z^  "f  commonplace,--unmelodious,  to  all  ears  but 

lose  of  the  Swiss  "forlorn  in  a  foreign  land." 

SL'^S^^Sr'^-'^'V?"  Byron%onsulted  a  fortuneteller 
specting  the  destinies  of  her  son,  and,  according  to  her  femi- 

ter  susrctfn:  7^  T^  '^T"".^  ^"'^  ^"^^^^^^  ^ith  fhe  s^bi 
ver  suspecting  that  she  might  have  been  previouslv  known 
d  unconscious  to  herself,  an  object  of  inLrest  to  the  s^e 

itded  it  afnT"''1,l"  r'  ^^r-Jf  off  asamaidenlady.Tn'S 
;Ko  /  f  ^  r*^^  testimony  of  the  wisdom  of  the  oracle 

If  socond.sighL"nt"  it  t^' ^  r!^^^^!^''^^  P^-^ 

.hould  be^wicrirS°"thfr  ^'.T  °^  "^^'  ^'^^  ^'^^^  ^^ 
iVhoi»,„    i         marned;  the  second  time  to  a  foreign  IrHv 

ouw,  ■nli«twenly.M,«„u,vear,incur»>rae  great  mirfortane, 


33 


THE  LIFE  OP 


18  not  certain ;  but  consider  in;?  his  unhappy  English  marriage  I 
and  his  subsequent  Italian  liaison  with  the  Countess  GuiccioliL 
the  marital  prediction  was  not  far  from  receivinff  its  accom'l 
phshment.   The  fact  of  his  marriage  taking  place  in  his  twen.  r 
ty-seventh  year,  is  at  least  a  curious  circumstance,  and  hasl 
been  noticed  by  himself  with  a  sentiment  of  superstition. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

i  ' 

Placed  at  Harrow.— Progress  there.-Love  for  Miss  Chaworth  —His 
:  reading.— Oratorical  powers. 

In  passing  from  the  quiet  academy  of  Dulwich  Grove  to  the 
public  school  of  Harrow,  the  change  must  have  been  great  to 
any  boy— to  Byron  it  was  punishment;  and  for  the  first  year 
and  a  half  he  hated  the  place.     In  the  end,  however,  he  rose  to 
be  a  leader  in  all  the  sports  and  mischiefs  of  his  school-fellows  -. 
but  It  never  could  be  said  that  he  was  a  popular  boy,  however! 
much  he  was  distinguished  for  spirit  and  bravery;  for  if  he 
was  not  quarrelsome,  he  was  sometimes  vindictive.    Still  it 
could  not  have  been  to  any  inveterate  degree ;  for  undoubtedly 
m  his  younger  years,  he  was  susceptible  of  warm  impressions 
trom  gentle  treatment  ^^ad  his  obstinacy  and  arbitrary  hu- 
mour  were  perhaps  more  the  effects  of  unrepressed  habit  than 
ot natural  bias:  they  were  the  prickles  which  surrounded  his 
genius  m  the  bud. 

At  Harrow  he  acquired  no  distinction  as  a  student :  indeed 
at  no  period  was  he  remarkable  for  steady  application.     Under    m 
VT.  trlennie  he  had  made  but  little  progress ;  and  it  wa^  chieflv     1 
in  consequence  of  his  backwardness  that  he  was  removed  froiii     M  ha 
his  academy.  When  placed  with  Dr.  Drury  it  was  with  an  inti-    -||t  a^ 
mation  that  he  had  a  cleverness  about  him,  but  that  his  edu-    Mro-v 
cation  had  been  neglected.  '   ^ 

The  early  dislike  which  Byron  felt  towards  the  Earl  of  Car- 
lisle  13  abundantly  well  known,  and  he  had  the  magnanimity 
to  acknowledge  that  it  was  in  some  respects  unjust.  But  the 
antipathy  was  not  all  on  one  side  ;  nor  will  it  be  easy  to  paral- 
lel the  conduct  of  the  Earl  with  that  of  any  guardian.  It  i^ 
but  justice,  therefore,  to  Bvron.  to  makp.  thft  nnh"'^  »«««  *h.i 
the  disiike  began  on  the  part  of  Lord  Carlisle,  and  originated 
m  some  distaste  which  he  took  to  Mrs.  Byron's  manners,  and 
at  uie  trouble  she  sometimes  ^zve  him  on  account  of  her  son. 

ur.  Urmy,  m  his  communication  to  Mr.  Moore  respecting 
tfle  early  history  of  Byron,  mentions  a  singular  circumstance 


^har 


LORD  BYRON. 


33 


ippy  English  marriage, 
he  Countess  Guiccioli, 
1  receiving-  its  acconi 
ting  place  in  his  twen. 
circumstance,  and  has 
It  of  superstition. 


)r  Miss  Chaworth.— His 
ers. 

Dulwich  Grove  to  the 
tst  have  been  great  to 
and  for  the  first  year 
id,  however,  he  rose  to^ 
i  of  his  school-fellows; 
jopular  boy,  however! 
id  bravery;  for  if  he| 
3s  vindictive.    Still  iti 
free;  for  undoubtedly,! 
of  warm  impressions 
y  and  arbitrary  hu 
irepressed  habit  than 
vhich  surrounded  his 

IS  a  student :  indeed, ,,, 
'  application.    Under ,, 
is;  and  it  wai  chiefly^ 
le  was  removed  from 
y  it  was  with  an  inti'? 
m,  but  that  his  edu 


irds  the  Earl  of  Car. 
id  the  magnanimity 
;tg  unjust.  But  the 
1  it  be  easy  to  paral- 
ny  guardian.    It  h% 

IR  nnhllA  nvanra  t\iai 
.-   J 


isle,  and  originated  I 
ron's  manners,  andj 
.ccount  of  her  son. 
r.  Moore  respecting  f 
g^ular  circumstance 


to  this  subject,  which  we  record  with  the  more  pleasure,  > 
icauae  Byron  has  been  blamed,  and  has  blamed  himself  for 
irreverence  towards  Lord  Carlisle,  while  it  appears  the  fault 
\y  with  the  Earl. 

"  After  some  continuance  at  Harrow,"  says  Dr.  Drury,  "  and 

'hen  the  powers  of  his  mind  had  begun  to  expand,  the  late 

ird  Carlisle,  his  relation,  desired  to  see  me  in  town.  I  waited 

his  Lordship.  His  object  was  to  inform  mo  of  Lord  Byron's 

pectations  of  property  when  lie  came  of  age,  which  he  repre- 

inted  as  contracted,  and  to  inquire  respecting  his  abilities. 

'n  the  former  circumstance  I  made  no  remark;  as  to  the  lat- 

ir,  I  replied,  '  He  has  talents,  my  Lord,  which  will  add  lustre 

ID  his  rank.'     '  Indeed  !'  said  his  Lordship,  with  a  degree  of 

rprise  that,  according  to  my  feelings,  did  not  express  in  it  all 

le  satisfaction  I  expected." 

Lord  Carlisle  had,  indeed,  much  of  the  Byron  humour  in 
iim.     His  mother  was  a  sister  of  the  homicidal  lord,  and  pos- 
ssed  some  of  tlie  family  peculiarity  :  she  wag  endowed  with 
reat  talent,  and  in  her  latter  days  she  exhibited  great  sin- 
[ularity.     She  wrote  beautiful  verses  and  piquant  epigrams  ; 
long  others,  there  is  a  poetical  effusion  of  her  pen,  addressed 
Mrs.  Greville,  on  her  Ode  to  Indifference,  which,  at  the  time, 
as  much  admired,  and  has  been,  with  other  poems  of  her  lady- 
up,  published  in  Pearch's  collection.     After  moving,  for  a  long 
me,  as  one  of  the  most  brilliant  orbs  in  the  sphere  of  fashion, 
|ie  suddenly  retired,  and,  like  her  morose  brother,  shut  herself 
,ip  from  the  world.    While  she  lived  in  this  seclusion,  she  be- 
came  an  object  of  the  sportive  satire  of  the  late  Mr.  Fox,  who 
■characterized  her  as — 

Carlisle,  recluse  in  pride  and  rags. 

have  heard  a  still  coarser  apostrophe  by  the  same  gentleman. 
It  seems  they  had  quarrelled,  and  on  his  leaving  her  in  the 
4rawing.room,  she  called  after  him,  that  he  might  go  about  his 
■jbusiness,  for  she  did  not  care  two  skips  of  a  louse  for  him.    On 
*^.oming  to  the  hall,  finding  paper  and  ink  on  the  table,  he  wrote 
;wo  lines  in  answer,  and  sent  it  up  to  her  Ladyship,  to  the 
iffect  that  she  always  spoke  of  what  was  running  in  her  head. 
Byron  has  borne  testimony  to  the  merits  of  his  guardian, 
er  son,  as  a  tragic  poet,  by  characterizing  his  publications  as 

•aper  books.      It  is.   howfivpr    caiH     fVmf   iIiott   v.»<»««^i,y>i» 

ihowed  some  talent,  and  that  The  Father's  Revenge,  one  of  the 
tragedies,  was  submitted  to  the  judgment  of  Dr.  Johnson,  v '  * 
did  not  despise  it. 

But  to  return  to  the  progress  of  Byron  at  Harrow ;  it  is  cer- 
tam  that  notwithstanding  the  affectionate  solicitude  of  Dr. 


34 


THE  LIFE  OF 


l!;iiiiiiii 


II    ' 


!       I 


Drury  to  encourage  him,  he  never  becarhe  an  eminent  scholar;! 
at  least,  we  have  his  own  testimony  to  that  effect,  in  the  fourth? 
canto  of  Childe  Harold  ;  the  lines,  however,  in  which  that  tag. 
tjmony  stands  recorded,  are  amorist  the  weakest  he  ever 
penned.  " 

-  Mny  he  who  will  his  recollections  rake, 
And  quote  in  ciiissic  rnptiirra,  and  awake 
The  hills  with  Lati.-ui  echoes  .  I  abhorr'r" 
Too  much  to  coiiquor,  for  ilic  imo.Vf,  sake, 

The  drill'd,  dull  iL'sson  forc(!(l  lowii  word  by  word, 
In  my  repugnant  youth  with  pioii'.ure  to  record 

And,  as  an  apology  for  tlic  defect,  he  mak^s  the  following  re.  I 
marks  in  a  note  subjoined  :  * 

"  I  wish  to  express,  that  we  become  tired  of  the  task  before 
we  can  comprehend  the  beauty ;  that  we  learn  by  rote  before 
wo  can  get  by  heart ;  that  the  freshness  is  worn  away,  and  the 
future  pleasure  and  advantage  deadened  and  destroyed  by  the  , 
didactic  anticipation,  at  an  age  when  we  can  neither  feel  nor  ■ 
understand  the  power  <  f  compositions,  which  it  requires  an  l 
acquaintance  with  life,  as  well  as  Latin  and  Greek,  to" lidish  or  ' 
to  reason  upon.    For  the  same  reason,  we  never  can  be  aware  , 
of  the  fulness  of  some  of  the  finest  passages  of  Shakspea.-e  ('To;i 
be,  or  not  to  be,'  for  instance,)  from  the  habit  of  having  them 
hammered  into  us  at  eight  years  old,  as  an  exercise  not  of 
muid  but  of  memory ;  so  that  when  we  are  old  enough  to  enjoy 
them,  the  taste  is  gone  and  the  appetite  palled.    In  some  parts 
of  the  contment,  young  persons  are  taught  from  mere  common 
authors,  and  do  not  read  the  best  classics  until  their  maturity. 
I  certainly  do  not  speak  on  this  point  from  any  pique  or  averi 
Bion  towards  the  place  of  my  education.    I  was  not  a  slow  or 
an  idle  boy ;  and  I  believe  no  one  could  be  more  attached  to 
Harrow  than  I  have  always  been,  and  with  reason :  a  part  of 
the  time  i   ssod  there  was  the  happiest  of  my  life ;  and  my 
preceptor,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Joseph  Drury,  was  the  best  and  worthi- 
est  friend  I  ever  possessed ;  whose  warnings  I  have  remember, 
ed  but  too  well,  though  too  late,  when  I  have  erred  ;  and  whose 
counsels  I  have  but  followed  when  I  have  done  well  and  wisely. 
If  ever  this  imperfect  record  of  my  feelings  towards  him  should 
reach  his  eyes,  let  it  remind  him  of  one  who  never  thinks  of  him 
but  with  gratitude  and  veneration;  of  one  who  would  more 
gladjjr  boast  of  having  been  his  pupil  if,  by  more  closely  follow- 
ing nis  iiij  mictions,  he  could  reflect  any  honour  upon  his  in- 
structor." 

Lord  Byron,  however,  is  not  sinofular  in  his  opinion  of  the 
inutility  of  premattire  classical  studies ;  and  notwithstanding 
the  able  manner  in  which  the  late  Dean  Vincent  defended  pub. 


LORD  BYKON. 


35 


the  an  eminent  scholsr, 

that  effect,  in  the  fourth 

ever,  in  which  that  tes. 

the  weakest  he  ever 


1  rako, 

I  awake 

'f,  sake, 

II  word  by  word, 
re  to  record 


"Jipa  the  fcllowingf 


re- 


»  education,  we  have  some  notion  that  his  reasoning  upon  this 
i^nt  will  not  be  deemed  coiiclusive.    Milton,  says  Dr.  Vin- 
It,  complained  of  the  years  that  were  wasted  in  teaching  the 
d  lang^iages.     Cowley  also  complained  that  classical  educa- 
i  taught  words  only,  and  not  things ;  and  Addison  deemed  »t 
mexpiable  error,  that  boys  with  genius  or  without  were  all 
►e  bred  fwets  indiscriminately.     As  far,  then,  as  respects  the 
cation  of  a  poet,  we  should  thin^c  that  the  names  of  Milton 
vley,  Addison,  and  Byron,  wouh.    -o  well  to  settle  the  queJ 
;  especially  when  it  is  recollecfeu  now  little  Shakspeare  was 
lebted  to  the  study  of  the  classics,  and  tiiat  Burns  knew  no. 
ng  of  them  at  all.    I  do  not,  however,  adopt  the  opinion  as 
^ect;  neither  do  I  think  that  Dean  Vincent  took  a  right 
u^  the  subject ;  for,  as  discipline,  the  study  of  the  classics 
be  highly  useful,  at  the  sama  time,  the  mere  hammering 
^  reek  and  Latin  into  English  cannot  be  very  conducive  to 
refinement  of  taste  or  the  exaltation  of  sentiment.    Nor  is 
■e  b.ther  common  sense  or  correct  logic  in  the  following  oh- 
•ations  made  on  the  passage  and  note,  quoted  by  the  anonv- 
is  author  of  Childe  Harold's  Monitor.  ^  •'  ^ 

This  do-jtrine  of  antipathies,  contracted  by  the  impatience 
outh  against  the  noblest  authors  of  antiquity,  from  the  cir- 
istance  of  having  been  made  the  vehicle  of  early  instruc 
IS  a  most  dangerous  doctrine  indeed;  since  it  strikes  at 
root,  not  only  of  all  pure  taste,  but  of  all  praiseworthy  indus- 
It  would,  if  acted  upon  (as  Harold  by  the  mention  of  the 
lental  practice  of  using  inferior  writers  in  the  business  of 

until  their  maturity.  £^,1^,1?!!"  *° '^5°'""^«"<^')  destroy  the  great  source  of 
r   '"%^.^^\^®<^*"al  vigour  of  our  countrymen." 

i^^V^'  ""^o"P'^e^'y.  assuming  too  much;  for  those  who 

«■  objected  to  the  years  "wasted"  in  teaching  the  dead  Ian. 

es,  do  not  admit  that  the  labour  of  acquiring  them  either 

|oves  the  taste  or  adds  to  the  vigour  of  the  understanding; 

fe^herefore  before  the  soundness  of  the  opinion  of  Milton, 

•7r  ?i  ^^'^V^^"'  ^^^  of  many  other  great  men,  can  be  re- 


ired  of  the  task  before , 
ye  learn  by  rote  before 
is  worn  away,  and  the 
I  and  destroyed  by  the 
e  can  neither  feel  nor 
which  it  rcouires  an 
md  Greek,  to  liilish  or 
/e  never  can  be  aware 
es  of  Shakspea.-e  ('  To 
habit  of  having  them 
Ls  an  exercise  not  of 
•e  old  enough  to  enjoy 
lalled.    In  some  parts 
it  from  mere  common 


)m  any  pique  or  aver 
I  was  not  a  slow  or 
be  more  attached  to 

ith  reason :  a  part  of 
of  my  life ;  and  my 

I  the  best  and  worthi- 

igs  I  have  remember 


ive  erred ;  and  whose  tS^f  Childe  H.rn?^'  m°  T  °^  ^'''°  Vincent's  opinion,  and 
J „ '-_  .     .    ,     *«*•  ot  uulde  Harold's  Monitor,  to  prove  that  the  study  of  tho 


done  well  and  wisely 
8  towards  him  should 
0  never  thinks  of  him 
ne  who  would  more 
more  closely  follow- 
honour  upon  his  in- 

n  his  opinion  of  the 
md  notwithstanding 
ncent  defended  pub- 


J   ,  .-- ".-v/i,  i,u  pmvo  iiiai  uiw  siuay  or  ino 

1  for  it^"^^^^  Js  of  so  much  primary  importance  as  they 

t  it  appears  that  Byron's  mind,  during  the  early  period  of 
Residence  at  Harrow,  was  occupied  with  another  object 

fn"VKr'""%r*'i  n".'^","^^^"  ^""''^^y  account  for  his  inatten. 
TO  tftem.    He  fell  m  love  with  Mary  Chawortb.    "She 

hir.  1,"/^®*®"*®*^  *°  ^^''^^  ^^^^  "  several  years  older  than 
wi,  but  at  ray  a^e  boys  like  something  older  than  them. 
»,  as  they  ao  younger  later  in  life.    Our  estates  adjoined, 


r 


86 


TDE  LIFE  OP 


I!, 


i(iii' 


Ihart 


n^f^ri??}"/''^  ^''^''^W  '^•':^"'"«tancc9  of  tho  feud  (the  affJ 
of  the  fatal  duel,)  our  fum.lics,  as  is  penorally  the  caHo  W 
neighbours,  who  happen  to  bo  near  relations, We  never 
terms  of  more  than  common  civility,  scarcely  those.  She  w^ 
^e  beau  xdea  of  all  that  my  youthful  fancy  could  paint  J 
beautrful!  and  I  have  taken  all  my  fables  about  the  S  t3 
nature  of  women  from  the  perfection  my  imagination  cre3 

il^f\:-      rr  ''''"r '^'  ^T  ^  ^«""'^  h^*-'  ''"^c  the  rest  of  the  si 
any   hmg  but  ange he.     I  returned  to  Harrow,  after  my  trip 
Cheltenham,  more  deeply  enamoured  than  ever,  and  passed  tj 
next  holidays  a    Nowstead.    I  now  began  to  fancy  my sel  1 
man,  and  to  make  love  in  earnest.    Our  meetings  were^toi 
ones,  and  my  letters  passed  through  the  medium  of  a  confidaj 
mS^       "^'^if  ^?'"  ^H'  Chaworth's  grounds  to  those  of  k 
mother,  was  the  place  of  our  interviews,  but  the  ardour  was^ 
on  my  side ;  I  was  serious,  she  was  volatile.    She  liked  me  i  ■ 
ayoonger  brother,  and  treated  and  laughed  at  me  as  a  bot^i 
^however,  gave  me  her  picture,  and  that  was  something^ 
make  verses  upon.    Had  I  married  Miss  Chaworth,  perhapsY 
whole  tenour  of  my  life  would  have  been  different  rsheS 

re'«°Tt'u\  JJ'"'  T'r^'  P^°"^^  ^"y  ^hing  but  a  hapl 
C^f if  ]  ^'^  this  attachment  that  we  are  indebted  for  J 
beautiful  poem  of  The  Dream,  and  to  the  stanzas  beginniiigl 

Oh,  had  my  fate  been  joined  to  thine  I  * 

^ni^?-?!"^  m"'!?  ^°''''  affair  a  little  interfered  with^liis  Gr«  _|«,  , 

r^adi^f "  n!f nT  "^^^  •  °f  P''^'^  without  some  attention    S^^h 
reading.    Until  he  was  eighteen  years  old,  he  had  never  sec.-^     u 
a  review  ;  but  his  general  InformaLn  war  ^o  exJensfve  on  P^"^^ 
dern  topics,  as  to  induce  a  suspicion  that  he  could  only  haf 
collected  so  much  mformation  from  reviews,  as  he  was  nel 
Been  reading,  but  always  idle,  and  in  mischief,  or  at  play.   I 
was  however,  a  devourer  of  books ;  he  read  eating,  read  in  be^ 

view  and  l'""'  ^%^?  T'*^  ^P*'"'  ^"^  ^^^  never  read  arf 
view,  and  knew  not  what  the  name  implied.  ^' 

It  should  be  here  noticed,  that  while  he  was  at  Harrow  ii 
Sad  Ihen  I?  ^/^'^^^^f  ^-jical  than  poetical ;  and  if  an  opi^l 
had  then  been  formed  of  the  likely  result  of  his  character  t;^ 

SSfr^"  ^T'^  ^""^  ^'^  '^'^'  expectation  of  anS 
AltogetJier  his  conduct  at  Harrow  indicated  a  clever,  but  not! 

M-T«l"'if  ""^^  ^^'  ""^  *°^°^^^  ^  tew  friendships  there,  in  wl 

markable.    The  kte  Duke  of  Dorset  was  his  fag,  and  he' 
not  considered  a  very  hard  taskmaster.    Ho  certainly  did 


LORD  BYROF. 


esoftho  feud  (the  afin 
penorally  the  cane  vvn 
elations,  were  never 
3arc(;ly  those.  She  vvs 
il  fancy  could  paint  o, 
bles  about  the  celesti 
tny  imagination  create 

like  the  rest  of  these 
larrow,  after  my  trip 
an  ever,  and  passed  tl 
3gan  to  fancy  myself 
ir  meetings  were  stol 

mediumofaconfid 
grounds  to  those  of  .. 
,  but  the  ardour  was  i 
atile.    She  liked  me  I 
ighed  at  me  as  a  bo? 

that  was  something 
I  Chaworth,  perhaps  i 
an  different;  she  jilt 
any  thing  but  a  hap| 
e  are  indebted  for  i 
le  stanzas  beginning 


87 


Irry  with  him  from  Harrow  any  anticipaUon  of  that  fplendid 
Ireer  he  was  destined  to  run  as  a  poet. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Iharacter  at  Harrow.-Poetical  predilections.-Byron  at  Cambridge - 
I  Hi8"  Hours  of  Idleness."  ^wiujic.-. 


to  thine  I 


IIn  reconsidermg  the  four  years  which  Byron  spent  at  Har- 
W,  while  we  can  clearly  trace  the  development  of  the  sensi. 
ties  of  his  character,  and  an  increased  tension  of  his  sua- 
itibihty,  by  which  impressions  became  more  acute  and  de- 
Ate,  It  seems  impossible  not  to  perceive  by  the  records  which 
has  himself  left  of  his  feelings,  that  something  morbid  wai 
uced  upon  them.     Had  he  not  afterwards  so  mair^^^^-entij 
itmguished  himself  as  a  poet,  it  is  not  probable  thathewoulj 
ive  been  recdlected  by  his  school-fellows  as  having  been  in 
ly  respect  different  from  the  common  herd.  His  activity  and 
rit,  in  their  controversies  and  quarrels,  were  but  the  out- 
lakmgs  of  that  temperament  which  the  discipline  of  riper 
irs  and  the  natural  awe  of  the  world  afterwards  reduced 
>  his  hereditary  cast  of  character,  in  which  so  much  of  sul. 

^rfK?i'"*"^"*^'°Py.''^'  exhibited.  I  cannot,  however, 
^k  that  there  was  any  thing  either  in  the  nature  of  his  pas. 

lout  some  attention   ST  rCnlrw''  ""^^^""^'^"e  to  the  formation  of  the  pSt. 

old,  he  had  never  s<..SJhZk^nt  ^1  r"««'"^"*«  ^«r«  .^«tive;   his  reading. 

.cHn„^l  "J^;  hod,  was  yet  congenial  to  his  impassioned 
agination  and  the  phantom  of  an  enthusiastic  attachment 
which.  Miss  Chaworth  was  not  the  only  object  (for  Twas 
.gether  mtellect.al,  and  shared  with  others,)  were  cir  Jm! 

Tnf  r?t«  ♦^'l  ^°  °P'"  ?"°"^  «°"^^««  «f  reflection,  and  to 
Sut  t  i  n  ""'".?  of  an  energetic  and  original  rkind. 
8ut  It  18  no  easy  matter  to  sketch  what  may  have  been  tlie 
ine  of  a  young  poet's  education.  The  supposition  that  ^s 
1st  be  dreamers,  because  there  is  often  mSch  dreamines^n 
'sy,  IS  a  mere  hypothesis.  Of  all  the  professors  of  metephy^ 
il  discernment,  poets  require  the  finest  tact :  and  contem 
Jion  «  with  them  a  sign  of  inward  abstract  reflecttrmoTe 

"^ .l!fZ.P'"°^^^«  ?^  "^I'^'i  J?y  which  resemblance  is\Zl 
^.-...^.  =,..::=  av/r.iicnea.     i  iiere  is  no  account  of  any  great 


rfered  with*}iis  Gree  J 


ac  so  extensive  on  m 
at  he  could  only  ha'' 
iews,  as  he  was  nevi 
schief,  or  at  play,   l^ 
ad  eating,  read  in  1»| 
used  all  sorts  of  hd' 

had  never  read  a  r 
ied. 

le  was  at  Harrow,  1: 
cal;  and  if  an  opini 
t  of  his  character,!; 
joctation  of  an  orate 
sd  a  clever,  but  not! 
dships  there,  in  whi: 

some  instances,  r 
s  his  fag,  and  he 
Ho  certainly  did 


>*  »rk>  •      w^.      -^  "°*  «'">""  account  or  an Vffreat 

!t  Whose  genius  wa,  of  that  dreamy  cartilaginous  kind.wS 

feahado™"?  ""hiJr  %""  """■'''  """"h^ant  from  MghtS 
■a  snadows ;  which  ponders  over  the  mTsteriea  of  trees,  snrt  in 

Vetothe oradosofbabbling waters.  Ay 4™il^m^ 


i 


'I  I'i 


K 


38 


THE  LIFE  OF 


'I  i:! 


Mil! 


Slf  r"'-*^'f7"^  °"te/''°'"  «*hers  in  reasonincr,  more  J 
teelinff  than  induction.    Directed  bv  imnnl««  ;«  „  °    ""'^^  ;« 

greetLn  other  men,  poets  aren't  t"o  b^CyeVin'^l^tiol 
which  make  them  singular,  as  compared  by  those  vvho  aTe  D 
miagjmitiye ;  but  the  eflects  of  earnitness  LoSJ ^^^2 
founded  with  the  qualities  of  talent.  ^°1 

woHH  ^'^'l^-i'  '"f  9°"«?Ption  has  ever  been  obtruded  upon  tbi 
world  as  philosophic  criticism,  than  the  theory  of  poets  be  nl 
W  f£""^  ""^  "cooing lambkins  and  capering  dSve   :"     fl 
&nt7  '■  "?  '^"^'''  ^'"'"  ""'^''^  '»'^"  «f  high  endo^mei 

Se  VauSd  *"^'"'''"f  °' '^^^  ^^^^^«^°  which  a 
inflnpnnni  1  .     ^^^  "'°'^  Vigorous  poets,  those  who  havA 

wfluenced  longest  and  are  most  quoted,  have  indeed  bSnS 
men  of  great  shrewdness  of  remark,  and  any  thinff  but  vou  '^ 

SnJctsty'  Tre'ihf '"^-     ^'  "''^"^^   -ny  Tnsttee'sl 
M^^^fr !!?  .7*    -^'^^.there  any  symptoms  of  the  gelatinous  cha 

Homer°   Ttf"r"%°^  the  Lakers  in  the  compositions  S 
£L^^--^  more  like  ficti^:Zn  Sillc^f^eS  i.^ 

inhishavmg  hatcterlTjIg^^i^^^S  S^'^ 
calm  mind  rejects  as  absurdities     Th^n  i<..^  Ivi    u- 

PoSsthal  bahhirV    '  "^'^^ '',!!''"'  .^°'^«^  B""«h.  Compare  tl. 
poets  that  babble  of  green  fields,  with  those  who  deal  in  the  le 

Ss^^d  tTaTuislMh'  -'^\- Shakspeare,  and  i^mttt  ^ 
comessea  that  it  is  not  those  who  have  looked  at  exterml  m 
ture  who  are  the  true  poets,  but  those  who  have  sLn  and  con" 
dered  most  about  the  business  and  bosom  of  rnan     Jt  inay  bl 

the  wisest  men  of  thei,  time  -  Tn^he  nrfr^i'^.ThA'^*'"".'  !^<=ei'"«n.  be« 
and  itapowers-of  the  Sons  and  fhr/lf;    ^^'^  knowledge  of  the  min, 
the  beautiful  forms  of  thTviSle  creatS,  '.'^  «"? -"'15  '2'^''  ''"'^  ^'^''^  ^' 
a  man  to  think  in  symnathv  wf.h  t  h]      '  ^''l^  '}  >s  which  can  alone  teacli 
and  enable  him  to  dSv  backTheVen  IZi^fi^  °^  ?''  fellow-creature.? 

in  an  "traordin^a'^XSrb?^^^^^^^^^^^  --  '-n. 

am'L"!?  '•?  "'"""  »"Muing  tongue, 
A    r^Hitr/ ^'■?»'n«nts  an  1  q-ioations  deep, 
Fnr  h?  ?*""'  P'-omptand  reason  strong. 
To  mLko''th''"^**f'  '""  '""^  ^^  "l^^  and  slefp, 
To  make  the  weeper  laugh -the  laugher  weep  <•• 


LORD  BYRON. 


39 


.advantage  that  a  poet  should  have  the  benefit  of  landscapes 
Id  storms  as  children  are  the  better  for  country  air  and  co^s 

I  Ik ,  but  the  true  scene  of  their  manly  work  and  business  is 
[the  populous  city.  Inasmuch  as  Byron  was  a  lover  of  soli- 
oe,  lie  was  deficient  as  an  observer  of  men 

[The  barrencst  portion  as  to  materials  for  biography  in  the 

Jf^lf  y^teresting  man  is  the  period  he  spent  at  the  Uni. 

fl  °^  Cambridge.     Like  that  of  most  yiung  men    it  is 

obable  the  major  part  of  his  time  was  paLd  ifween  the 

^ropol  s  and  Uie  university.    Still  it  was  in  th.t  period  he 

teflW  V  tT'  P"''"'  ^''"f^  "^^'^^  "Pt'>«  littk  volume 

II  r  •!       ''"''''"'' '  ^  '''°'^  ^'"^b  ^^^i»  ever  be  regard- 
I  more  by  its  consequences  than  its  importance,  as  of  f  reat 
luencc  on  the  character  and  career  of  the  poet  ^ 
It  has  been  supposed,  I  see  not  how  justly,  that  there  was 
bctation  m  the  title.     It  is  probable  thit  fiLn    ntended^ 

be'ThiT/h   'rVY/''  ^«"^^"*«  --«  skSehes  o? 
^ure.    This  is  the  less  doubtful,  as  he  was  at  that  period  par 

iilarly  sensitive  concerning  the  opinion  that  might  £  enter 
.ed  of  his  works.  Before  he  made  the  collectionf  many  of  the" 
kes  had  been  circulated,  and  he  has  gathered  opSs  as  to 
{ir  men  s  with  a  degree  of  solicitude  that  can  only  be  co^ 
fvcd  by  those  who  were  acquainted  with  the  constanfL  «v" 
M  sensibility  of  his  mind.  When  he  d  S  pSlLh  '^011'? 
|,  not  ling  appeared  in  the  style  and  form  Vt^Ie  pubiicaUon 
U  ndicated  any  arrogance  of  merit.  On  the  contrarv  iJ 
brought  forward  with  a  degree  of  diffidence!  which'Tf 

[rkct-town  press  of  Newarkrw,!f  rogXlt^'y^^o'S" 
Itic  work  and  no  attempt  was  made  to  bespeak  fo7it  3 
tie  from  the  critics.   It  was  truly  an  innocent  affair  „„5 
Vetending  performance.  But  noLSnTg  £' at  W 
\rnj  qualities  of  young  doubtfulness  and  timWity.  ihev  dM 
^soften  the  austere  nature  of  the  bleak  and  blSn^  Lki 
m  which  was  then  characteristic  of  Edinburirh^ 
copy  was  somehow  communicated  to  one  of  the  critir«  in 

ter^  "'f.  ''''7'"^  ^y  ^'™  ^"  the  Edinburgh  RevW 
Ian  art.ee  replete  with  satire  and  insinuations  calculated  t« 

Jl^^^^t^^^:^  feelings,  while  the  injustice Stel^? 
S*  I  ""■';"  "'"t"  '"^""  or  /lis  taiual  and  oricinalitv  rnu\A  ««♦ 
lot  be  as  iron  in  bis  limrf     r»..,;„    *    ^  ^^^gmnuiy,  could  not 

|,.onwhic\;ttft!rugh?te^^^^ 

Td  t  [hf '  "^  the  development  of  L  genius  and'hamcter  • 
|d  for  this  reason  I  msert  it  entire,  as  one  of  the  mostbfluen ' 
M  documents  perhaps  in  the  whole  extent  of  biography 


f 


I    'ii  i 


40 


THE  LIFE  or 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Criticism  of  the  Edinburgh  Review. 

SJ^'^n^T^  °^  ^^'^  ^°""^  ^°^^  ^^o'^ffs  to  the  class  whicj 
,ill  neither  God  nor  man  are  said  to  permit.    Indeed  we  do  not  rJ 

collect  to  have  seen  a  quantity  of  verse  with  so  few  deviation! 
m  either  direction  from  that  exact  standard.   His  effusions  J 
spread  over  a  dead  flat,  and  can  no  more  get  above  or  beloy 
tflQ  level,  than  if  they  were  so  much  stagnant  water     As  ar^ 
extenuation  of  this  offence,  the  noble  author  is  peculiarly  fo7 
w^d  in  pleading  minority.    We  have   it  in  the   title   paee 
and  on  the  very  back  of  the  volume ;  it  follows  his  name  S 
a  favourite  part  of  his  style.    Much  stress  is  laid  urT  it  to 

l^t/'!  ri-t-**  *^°  r^'"'  ^'^  connected  with  this  general 

I      Mii  111  1^1  Tli  ^'"u^'^  ^y  particular  dates,  substantiating  th| 

age  at  which  each  was  written.    Now  the  law  upon  the  noZ^ 

only  to  the  defendant;  no  plaintiff  can  offer  it  as  a  supplement 
tary  ground  of  action      Thus,  if  any  suit  could  be  broS 

f£  "  ^°'''  ^r°"'  ^°'  *^.^^  P^^'P^'^  °^  compelling  him  to  3 
mto  court  a  certain  quantity  of  poetry,  and  if  ju^ment^SP 
gvenagainst  him,  it  is  highly  probabl^  that  an  icS\S' 

volume.      To  this  he  might  plead  minority;  but  as  he  now 
nmkes  voluntary  tender  of  the  article,  he  hith  no  r^?  to^^ 
on  that  ground  for  the  price  in  good  current  praise  sTouW  th^ 
g^s  be  unmarketable.    This  fs  our  view  orthe  Jaw  ol  tS 
point;  and  we  dare  o  say,  so  will  it  be  ruled.    Perhaps  howl 
ever,  m  reality,  all  that  he  tells  us  about  his  youthTs  ^aS 
with  a  view  to  mcrease  our  wonder,  than  to  soflen  our  censure 
He  possibly  means  to  say,  '  See  how  a  minor  can  write  >Tht 
poem  was  actually  composed  by  a  young  man  of  eighteen 

Til  ^l  °"r  ''"^^  ''^*'""  '    ^"t'  ^^«  •'  ^«  all  remember  the 
poetry  of  Cowley  at  ten,  and  Pope  at  twelve ;  and  sofer  fro™ 
hearing  with  any  degree  of  surprise  that  very  r^r  verses  we 
written  by  a  youth  from  his  lekving  school  Ws  feavL.n 
lege  inclusive,  we  really  believe  this^o  be  the  mo  t  comln     - 
all  occurrences  ;-that  it  happens  in  the  life  of  nine  menTn  te 
who  are  educated  in  Eno-lanH.  nn^  ♦k.*  ♦il  '__i?®  ™®"  '".^®" 
better  verse  than  Lord  Byron/ '"  ""  ""'"  ™^'*  '^'"'°' 

wRvf^f"  "S!""  ''^f  ^i"  P;^""«ff«  o'^'-  author  brings  forward  M 
wave  It.    He  certainly,  however,  does  allude  frequently  to  h^ 
family  and  ancestors,  sometimes  in  poetry.  somet?mes£n^te;;| 


tOKD  BYRON. 


41 


16  teuiti  man  writeip 


id  while  giving  up  his  claim  on  the  score  of  rank  he  takes 
ire  to  remind  us  of  Dr.  Johnson's  saying,  that  Xn  a  noble 
Ian  appears  as  an  author,  his  merit  should  be  handsomei; 
feknowledged.    In  truth,  it  is  this  consideration  only  thaT7 
blf  *M'"'  ^°'^  ^^^''"'^  poems  a  place  in  our  Aev  ew 
brv  Z  t?\*"  Tr^  ^''"'  '^^'  ^'  ^o  forthwith  abando^* 
&nTtt«      .-^i'  *"''"'''  ^^'^^  ^'^  considerable,  and  Ws 
PiTS-/^  ,u- '  ^^'''^  ^"^  ^'■^**'  t«  better  account 
i     With  this  view  we  must  beg  leave  seriously  to  assure  him 

tn lJ\™!r  '^^'"'"S^  ^^*^^  fi"^l  «y"^ble,  evin  when  accom* 
biied  by  the  presence  of  a  certain  number  of  flet  •  nav  S" 

terll'S  h'T  r  '^r  '^PP^">  ^'^-^  feerlu"Kcl- 

If  ^t  y '  ^"**^^^ve  ''een  all  counted  upon  the  lingers  is  n^ 

>  whole  art  of  poetry.  We  would  entrelt  him  toSve  l^tl 

rtam  portion  of  liveliness,  and  somewhat  of  Ley  Js  necess^J 

[constitute  a  poem ;  and  that  a  poem  in  the  pres^en   day  t^'g 

ffient  f  om  r  'h  ^''''r/  thought,  either  in  a  littrjegre^ 

hted     Wen,^tj;r?-°^^T''  ^"*^^^'  °^  difFerentlyTx! 

Tir.'      .r    ^  ^  ^".'  candour,  whether  there  is  any  thina 

ritten  TnTROfi'  "7\of  Poetry,  in  verses  like  the  fdloS 

mten  m  1806,  and  whether,  if  a  youth  of  eighteen  could  sau 

pdTuST'"^'"^  ^^  ^^^  ^"'^^^"'  ^  youth^o/ntet::;; 

A^oad  or  at  home  yo„r  remembrance  iraparini; 
New  courage,  he'll  think  upon  glory  ancfjou 

'^^rff^V^"  *^*'" J*'"  ^y«  «t  this  sad  separation 
vJ/  l^^l'^'  ""'  '^«'''  that  excites  his  regret  •' 
Far  distant  he  goes  with  the  same  emulatkin  ' 

The  fame  of  his  fathers  he  ne'er  can  forget 
That  fame  and  that  memory  still  will  he  cherish 

Like  vTwni  W  ""'^'^  ,^"  ^'^^^^^  your'reTo'wn  ; 
wJ  ^"^'''  "^  ''^«'  o""  ''Ite  you  will  he  oerlsh  • 
When  decay'd  may  he  mingle  his  du?t  J^[h  Jiur  own. 

UZ:  "^t  P°'^*'7eJy  do  a«««rt,  that  there  is  nothing  better 
buhese  stanzas  in  the  whole  compass  of  the  noble  iS 

h  Lord  Byron  should  also  have  a  care  of  aitemntiiKr  ^h.t 

fcus  Gra^?  occasion  to  see  at  his'  writing^Zlr'  )  are 
K  tfn'LfM^f!  ?..?!-  ^»«^?.  should  rfally  have^krpt 
Id  school  at  Harrow'""'"  °"  ""  *''''^"'  "'""^  °'"  ^'^^  ^"*«» 


42 


THE  LIFE   OP 


"In  like  manner,  the  exquisite  lines  of  Mr.  Rogers,  'On  a 
Tear,'  might  have  warned  the  noble  author  of  these  premises,! 
and  spared  us  a  whole  dozen  such  stanzas  as  the  following : 


♦  f 


Mild  charity's  glow, 

To  us  mortals  below, 
Shows  the  soul  from  barbarity  clear ; 

Compassion  will  melt 

Where  the  virtue  is  felt. 
And  its  dew  is  diffused  in  a  tear. 

The  man  doom'd  to  sail 
Wi;h  the  blast  of  the  gale. 

Through  billows  Atlantic  to  steer, 
As  he  bends  o'er  the  wave, 
Which  may  soon  be  his  p-ave. 

The  green  sparkles  bright  with  a  tear. 


••And  so  of  instances  in   which  former  poets  had  failed! 
Thus,  we  do  not  think  Lord  Byron  was  made  for  translating,!! 
during  his  nonage,  Adrian's  Address  to  his  SouK  when  PopJ 
succeeded  indifferently  in  the  attempt.    If  our  readers,  how| 
ever,  are  of  another  opinion,  they  may  look  at  it. 

Ah !  gentle,  fleeting,  wav'ring  sprite, 

Friend  and  associate  of  this  clay, 

To  what  unknown  region  borne 
Wilt  thou  now  wing  thy  distant  flight  7 

No  more  with  wonted  humour  gay, 

But  pallid,  cheerless,  and  forlorn. 

'•  However,  be  this  as  it  may,  we  fear  his  translations  anc 
imitations  are  great  favourites  with  Lord  Byron.  We  havf- 
them  of  all  kinds,  from  Anacreon  to  Ossian ;  and,  viewing  then 
as  school  exercises,  they  may  pass.  Only  why  print  theii| 
after  they  have  had  their  day  and  served  their  turn  ?  AnI 
why  call  the  thing  in  p.  79,  a  translation,  where  two  wor(L 
(fl«A.o  xtynv)  of  the  original  are  expanded  into  four  IL-^es,  and  M 
other  thing  in  p.  81,  where  j"s<rovuxTix«?  jtoS'  op*is  is  rendered,  bl 
means  of  six  hobbling  verses.  As  to  his  Qssian  poesy,  we  ail 
not  very  good  judges ;  being,  in  truth,  so  moderately  skilled  ir 
that  species  of  composition,  that  we  should,  in  all  probabilitv 
be  criticising  some  bit  of  genuine  Macpherson  itself,  were  w 
to  express  our  opinion  of  Lord  Byron's  rhapsodies.  If,  then 
the  following  beginning  of  a  Song  of  Bards  is  by  his  lordshite 
we  venture  to  object  to  it,  as  far  as  we  can  comprehend  it|| 
•What  form  rises  on   the  roar  of  clouds,  whose  dark  ghosl 

gieams  on  the  red  stream  of  tempests  1    His  voice  rolls  on  thi' 
Hinder:  'tis  Oila,  the  brown  ti-uef  of  Otchnna.     Hs  wss.'  Ar 
After  detaining  this  ♦  brown  chief  some  time,  the  bards  con 
dude  by  givihg  him  their  advice  to  '  raise  his  fair  locks ;'  the^ 
to  •  spread  them  on  the  arch  of  the  rainbow ;'  and  to  '  smii 
through  the  tears  of  the  storm.'    Of  this  kind  of  thing  then 


LORD  BYHON. 


48 


re  no  less  than  nino  pages:  and  we  can  so  far  venture  an 
binion  m  their  favour,  that  they  look  very  like  MlcKon" 
M  we  are  posatwe  they  are  pretty  nearly  L  stu;Td  andTe-' 

The  artless  Helicon  I  boast  is  youth 

Inest  of  ,„me  friend,  'IT  &V    1?.™  f J    ""^  ^tKuIar  re. 

3S0  a  good  deal  about  his  maternal  ancesfor«  m  o  /"^^'^''^^ 
Caol,„,„  3,  Gair,  a  mountain,  wl,ere  h:"P';r,"„f\rv™.T 

^  ThP  J» nnP^''!'"? °'^  ®™«"  an**  damp. 

The  candidate  for  college  prizes 
S«ts  por.ng  by  the  midnight  lamp, 

Who  reads  false  quantities  in  Seale. 

Or  puzzles  o'er  the  deep  triangle 
Deprived  of  many  a  wholesome  meal. 

m  barbarous  Latin  doom'd  to  wrangle 

Renonncing  every  pleasing  page 
From  authors  of  historic  use  • 
Prej^rring,  to  the  letter'd  sage, 
riie  square  of  the  hypotheneuse. 
Thnfi!"'?'  '''^  ^^'^^^  occupations, 
rnr.  n„    I'"  "2"^  *">'  ^''e  hapless  student 
Compared  \yith  other  recreations  ' 

Which  bring  together  the  imprudent. 

f;  We  are  sorry  to  hear  so  bad  an  a^no—*  ^r  .^-  -» 
r^rnouy,  us  is  contained  in  the  foUowInVattic"  stanzasT"'^' 

^v^l!?'n  *^1!'*^  ^•'"'^'^'y  •«  excused, 

Even  as  a  band  of  raw  beginners  • 
All  mercy  now  must  be  reful-d         * 

i  0  such  a  set  of  croaking  sinnen. 


^^  THE  LIFE  OP 

If  David,  when  hig  toils  were  ended, 
Had  heard  these  blockheads  sing  before  him 

To  us  hjs  psalms  had  ne'er  descended-  ' 

in  furious  mood  he  would  have  tore  'em. 

.y^ll^'^l','^^''^^''^'^.j^^g'^^rit  maybe  passed  on  the  poems  oi 
this  noble  mmor  ,t  seems  we  must  take  them  as  we  6^6^^ 

It  hT^'A  ^T  '^'^  ^^\'^«  ^^«*  ^«  «^-"  evlr  have  M 
fc  \^*  '*''*'  ?.^  '^y^'  ^"*  ^"  ^"tr'ider  into  the  ffroves  o1 

fnH  fi''"\'  ^  "'^''  ^^"'^ '"  '^  ^'^^•^^^  "ke  thoroughbred  poet 

Jand  of  C  tf  "f  ^  'T^  ^  ^"^^^«^«  mountaineer^n  the  h3 
iands  of  Scotland,  he  has  not  of  late  enjoyed  this  advantS 
Moreover  he  expeets  no  profit  from  hiJ  publ  eation^S 
whether  it  succeeds  or  not,  it  is  highly  improbable  from  hi 

comf :«  :lor  Th'  r-  "^  ''''''''  ^amUdtsc'endTo  '' 
^Tlr^     ^^u^'    Therefor .,  let  us  take  what  we  get  and  U 

tZ  Zl  ''^*''  ''^''  ?^'  ^"^  '""^^  fr^'"  a  "^-^n  of  this  Wd's  s^ 
iLTStt'  ^^^  ^'^  ''-'  theVe^fn^rtf  S^' ^&d 


The  criticism  is  ascribed  to  Mr.  Franrio  TpffVo.,  „«   i         J 
member  of  the  Scottish  bar,  and  who  wTs  at  tW  J'        ^'^H 

F>et  y  been  as  insignificant  as  the  critic  affect^  ^coS^rl 
it^  Duld  have  argued  little  for  the  judgment  of  Mr   l^WrZ\f 

fit  ZZl't:  no  '  "^^^'^^''^  '^  col?de^5  woSiq 
Si.es  for  fbl  ^".-^  to  repine  at  the  severity  of  h3 

of 'tU'n^"'';:^.u*^  •'°"^P^'"^  *^^  respective  literary  reputatio 
«eing  an  original,  or  emine"n't"author  ""'"  "  '^'  ^'^"*'"'^"'* 


lOBD  BYRON. 


45 


id, 

before  him, 
ied- 
ore  'em. 

jsed  on  the  poems  oi 
them  as  we  find  ther 
shall  ever  have  fro., 
ider  into  the  groves  ol 
3  thorough-bred  poets 
ntaineer  in  the  Higl 
joyed  this  advantagi 
his  publication;  an; 
improbable,  from,  hi 
lin  condescend  to 
what  we  get  and 
nh  to  be  nice  ?     VVi 
lan  of  this  Lord's  s... 
has  got  the  sway  oi 
6  thankful;  and,  wit 
3r  look  the  gift-hon 


3  Jeffrey,  an  eloquen 
Lt  that  time  supposei 
That  it  was  neithe: 
3  degree  of  care  an 
Irawn  up.    Had  tli 
[fected  to  consider  i! 
3nt  of  Mr.  Jeffrey  . 
onsidered  worthless 
t  the  severity  of  h 
e  effect  of  kindlini 
r  him  to  that  retalii 
is  satire  of  Encli^ 

>  literary  reputatii 
nated  by  the  publi 
ormant.  The  void 
^e  been  the  greater 
fiough  still  enjoy  in; 
nt  critic  of  the  prck^, 
ii  lo  tne  honour  oij 

atire  alluded  to,  hi 
!  college  reputatioffl 
t.    But  his  dissipal 


m  was  not  intense,  nor  did  it  ever  become  habitudl     He 

fected  to  be  much  more  so  thanhe  was:  his  pretensions  were 
loderated  by  constitutional  incapacity.  His  health  was  not 
igorous;  and  his  delicacy  defeated  his  endeavours  to  shoT;«r 
lat  he  inherited  the  recklessness  of  his  father.  He  affected 
:travagance  and  eccentricity  of  conduct,  without  yieldinff 
luch  to  the  one,  or  practising  a  great  deal  of  the  other.  He 
as  seeking  notoriety ;  and  his  attempts  to  obtain  it  gave  more 
kethodtohis  pranks  and  follies  than  belonged  to  the  results 

natural  impulse  and  passion.    He  evinced  occasional  in. 

inces  of  the  generous  spirit  of  youth;  but  there  was  in  them 
lore  of  ostentation,  than  of  that  discrimination  which  dignifies 
mdness,  and  makes  prodigality  munificence.  Nor  were  his 
tachments  towards  those  with  whom  he  preferred  to  associate, 
laracterized  by  any  nobler  sentiment  than  self-indulgence,- 
I  was  attached,  more  from  the  pleasure  he  himself  received  in 
eir  society,  than  from  any  reciprocal  enjoyment  they  had  with 
m.    As  he  became  a  man  of  the  world,  his  early  friends  drop. 

llTi-ri.^  •''°"^^  '^  '^  ^"'^^"t'  ^y  ^1  the  contemporary 
^«n  tl  ?  i""^-'  *^^l^^  cherished  for  them  a  kind^and 
[en  brotherly  affection.  This  secession,  the  common  effect 
the  new  cares,  hopes,  interests,  and  wishes,  which  younff 
^n  feel  on  entering  the  world,  Byron  regarded  as  something 

If T.K  .  u '^'i-°"  '  ^"'^  the  notion  tainted  his  mind,  and 
itated  that  hereditary  suUenness  of  humour,  which  consti- 
ted  an  ingredient  so  remarkable  in  the  composition  of  his 
^^  »re  mature  character. 

lAn  anecdote  of  this  period,  characteristic  of  his  eccentricity. 

|d  the  means  which  he  scrupled  not  to  employ  in  indulging 

deserves  to  be  mentioned.  ""'S'"ff 

&/nri""^if''^f  ^^^.^^u'^'  ^  ^'^"^  ^^«  ^°""d  in  a  secret 

n  Jh   h   r  '•    '*  "i'Sht  have  been  that  of  the  monk  which 

>f  ."m  nf  f  h  ^°"'''  °'  °^  ''"^  °^  ^''  °^"  ancestors,  or  of  some 

«;;H^f  n!i-    i^i^'^'^  '■.^'''^'    ^*  ^^^  converted  into  a  goblet,  and 

&lTr   ""^'f  °<*'°"«  than  poetical,  it  caused  some  talk,  and 
Used  around  the  extravagant  host  the  haze  of  a  mystery,  sug. 
sung  fantaBios  of  irrehgion  and  horror.    The  inscription  on 
cup  IS  not  remarkable  either  for  point  or  poetry. 

Start  not,  nor  deem  my  spirit  fled  : 
^n  me  behold  the  only  skull, 

ht'2'"  "'"^*^"'  "HJikt  u  nviug  head. 
Whatever  flows  is  never  dull. 

{ I'.^'f  I  '^^'fJ'  I  quaff"d  like  thee : 
I  died,  but  earth  my  bones  resign  : 
Fni  up-thou  canst  not  injure  me, 
The  worm  hath  fouler  lips  than  tlune. 


i 


46 


I  I 


TIIE  LIFE  OP 

Better  to  hold  the  sparkling  grape 
Than  nursu  tlie  earth-worm's  sliiny  brood, 
And  circle  in  the  goblet's  shape 
The  drink  of  gods  than  reptiles'  food. 

Where  once  my  wit  prsrcliance  hath  shone, 
In  aid  of  others  let  me  shine ; 
And  when,  alas,  our  brains  are  gone. 
What  nobler  substitute  than  wine  ? 
Cluaff  while  tliou  canst— another  race, 
When  thou  and  thine  like  mo  are  sped. 
May  resciie  thee  from  earth's  embrace. 
And  rhyme  and  revel  with  the  dead. 
Why  not  ?  since  through  life's  little  day 
Our  heads  such  sad  effects  produce ; 
Uedeem'd  from  worms  and  wasting  clay. 
This  chance  is  theirs,  to  be  of  use. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

^^nfnu  1^^  P"ticism  in  the  Edinburgh  Review.-English  Bards  anJ 
SHr„  Reviewers.-H.s  sat.ety.-lntention  to  travel  -Publishes  h,| 
K^To'^SbraUaV'''  '"  ''''  "'"^  ''  Lords-Departs  for  Lisbon] 

The  impression  which  the  criticism  of  the  Edinburgh  Re 
view  prodiiced  upon  the  juvenile  poet  was  deep  and  envenomedi 
It  stung  his  heart,  and  prompted  him  to  excess.    But  the  pal 
roxysms  did  not  endure  long;  strong  volitions  of  revenge  suc[ 
ceeded,  and  the  grasps  of  his  mind  were  filled,  as  it  were,  wit! 
writhing  adders.  All  the  world  knows,  that  this  unquenchablj 
indignation  found  relief  in  the  composition  of  English  Bard] 
and   Scotch  Reviewers;   a  satire  which,  in  many  passaaej 
equals,  in  fervour  and  force,  the  most  vigorous  in  the  langu^ffe 
^    u  was  during  the  summer  of  1808,  while  the  poet  was  re^di 
mg  at  Newstead,  that  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewer! 
was  principally  written.  He  bestowed  more  pains  upon  it  thai 
perhaps  on  any  other  of  his  works ;  and,  though  different  froiJ 
them  all,  it  still  exhibits  strong  indications  of  the  misanthropJ 
with  which,  atler  quitting  Cambridge,  he  became  more  and  moril 
possessed.     It  is  painful  to  reflect,  in  considering  the  splenditf 
energy  displayed  in  the  poem,  that  the  unprovoked   malb 
which  directed  him  to  make  the  satire  so  general,  was  perhap 
the  mam  cause  of  that  disposition  to  wither  his  reputati( 
wnicn  was  afterwards  an  fJinronfi,,  -^„c^j      rj ,ij  ._  ^  i 

expect,  that,  in   stigmatizing  with  contempt  and  ridicule 
many  persons  by  name,  some  of  them  would  retaliate.    Nor| 
could  he  comp  ain  of  injustice  if  they  did;  for  his  attack  wa 
so  mltnl,  that  the  rage  of  it  can  only  be  explained  by  supi 


LORD  BYRON. 


47 


tit  J''"'  r"?.*'4  ^°  "<'^«  one  foil  swoop."  by  a  resentfnl 

i  do  not  conceive,  that  the  o-enpraHfv  nP  ♦!,«  x- 
Jll  extenuated;  bui  I  a,n  not^S  ^eXIoltd  k I'  h'"> 
been  a  very  heinous  otTence.  The  abilitv  £fl  ,  •  ^•''''•"^ 
Mficient  compensation.  The  beautv  .f  fho  ^  ^'*1  '"^  I*  '^  * 
beases  the  aversion  to  its  nature  Xl,'  ''^Tff  ''''"  "?' 
t  ve.e  without  poetry-the   most'^or;^^;?  rj^t^L^^^^ 

liseased  ichor,  whlh  ^rwa^  cilourel  hTs'lff  ^^^^^ 
fverflovvin?  suppuration  of  Tha?  satic^tv  li  ?  f'^s'ons;  the 
bdored  Childe  Harold  in  n.r L  i     ^      ^-  ^^^^'"ng:.  which 
fensible,  and  antisocTal  ^  and   h«\?   ,''  !•   ^"^'""^'  ^^^^^P^o^ 

^ilure  and  humiliation,  and  premature  disc?,«       ^'  "^  ''"'^.  °^ 
Jtandinff  his  unnecesskrv  rvnS        ^'«^»st     For,  notwith- 
Ion  \t  t  hi     """ccessary  expositions  concerninff  his  dissim 
t  was  n  ^,f°/^d,  controversy,  that  at  no  time  could  it  be'  S 
p  was  a  dissipated  younff  man.     Thaf  h^  i^A  i    1  -  ^ 

Ither's  qualities      "F  tnnir  ^    "*"  ""."i^  pretensions  to  his 
>t  they  were  not  to  mtr  u<^u. .  f  great  promptitude, 

ks  naturally  burninir  I  rnnM'.^f   k      "^^/"^  temperament 
li^m  nfthJJ       ^J  ■  ^"'**  "°*  ^^^^^  in  the  common  liber 


48 


THE  LIFE  OP 


between  the  intention  and  the  performance.    He  first  thoughij 
of  Persia ; — he  afterwards  resolved  to  sail  for  India ;  and  he 
BO  far  matured  this  project,  as  to  write  for  information  to  thd 
Arabic  professor  at  Cambridge ;  and  to  his  mother,  who  was  noS 
then  with  him  at  Newstead,  to  inquire  of  a  friend,  who  haf 
resided  in  India,  what  things  would  bo  necessary  for  the  voyj 
age.    Ho  formed  his  plan  of  travelling  upon  different  reason 
from  those  which  he  afterwards  gave  out,  and  which  have  been 
imputed  to  him.   He  then  thought  that  all  men  should  in  soinej 
period  of  their  lives  travel ;  he  had  at  that  time  no  tie  to  pre] 
vent  him ;  he  conceived  that  when  he  returned  home  he  mighlj 
be  induced  to  enter  into  political  life,  to  which  his  having  tra 
veiled  would  be  an  advantage;  and  he  wished  to  know  thj 
world  by  sight,  and  to  judge  of  men  by  experience. 

When  his  satire  was  ready  for  the  press,  he  carried  it  witj 
him  to  London.  He  was  then  just  come  of  age,  or  about  to 
80 ;  and  one  of  his  objects  in  this  visit  to  the  metropolis  was] 
to  take  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords  before  going  abroad | 
but,  in  advancing  to  this  proud  distinction,  so  soothing  to  th 
self-importance  of  youth,  he  was  destined  to  suffer  a  mortific 
tion  which  probably  wounded  him  as  deeply  as  the  sarcasE 
of  the  Edinburgh  Review.  Before  the  meeting  of  Parliamgntj 
he  wrote  to  his  relation  and  guardian,  the  Earl  of  Carlisle, 
remind  him  that  he  should  be  of  age  at  the  commencement  oi 
the  Session,  in  tlie  natural  hope  that  his  lordship  would  makl 
an  offer  to  introduce  him  to  the  House ;  but  he  was  disappointeiif 
He  only  received  a  formal  reply,  acquainting  him  with  thJ 
technical  mode  of  proceeding,  and  the  etiquette  to  be  observel 
on  such  occasions.  It  is  therefore  not  wonderful  that  he  shoull 
have  resented  such  treatment;  and  he  avenged  it  by  the 
lines  in  his  satire,  for  which  he  afterwards  expressed  his  regrel 
in  the  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold. 

Deserted  by  his  guardian  at  a  crisis  so  interesting,  he  wa 
prevented  for  some  time  from  taking  his  seat  in  Parliamenij 
being  obliged  to  procure  affidavits  in  proof  of  his  grandfather'! 
marriage  with  Miss  Trevannion,  which  having  taken  place  id 
a  private  chapel  at  Carhais,  no  regular  certificate  of  the  cer 
mony  could  be  produced.  At  length  all  the  necessary  evidena 
having  been  obtained,  on  the  13th  of  March,  1809,  he  present 
himself  in  the  House  of  Lords  alone — a  proceeding  consona 
to  his  character,  for  he  was  not  so  friendless  nor  unknown,  bQ 
iiiSi  uB  XTiigiit  iiavc  procurCu  souie  pesf  to  nave  goris  witu  luu- 
It  however  served  to  make  his  introduction  remarkable. 

On  entering  the  House,  he  is  described  to  have  appearei 
abashed  and  pale:  he  passed  the  woolsack  without  lookii 
round  and  advanced  to  the  table  where  the  proper  officer 


LOBD  BYRON.  49 

jattendingf  to  adminiater  the  oaths.  When  he  had  gone  through 
Khem,  the  chancellor  quitted  his  seat,  and  went  towards  him 
Iwith  a  smile,  putting  out  his  hand  in  a  friendly  manner  to 
Iwelcome  him,  but  he  made  a  stiff  bow,  and  only  touched  with 
Ithe  tip  of  his  fingers  the  chancellor's  hand,  who  immediately 
Ireturned  to  his  seat.  Such  is  the  account  given  of  this  important 
lincident  by  Mr.  Dallas,  who  went  with  him  to  the  bar;  but  a 
Icharacteristic  circumstance  is  wanting.  When  Lord  Eldon 
jadvanced  with  the  cordiality  described,  he  expressed  with  be- 
Icoming  courtesy,  his  regret  that  the  rules  of  the  House  had 
■obliged  him  to  call  for  the  evidence  of  his  grandfather's  mar. 
riage — "  Your  lordship  has  done  your  duty,  and  no  more," 
was  the  cold  reply  in  the  words  of  Tom  Thumb,  and  which 
probably  was  the  cause  of  the  marked  manner  of  the  chancel, 
por's  cool  return  to  his  seat. 

The  satire  was  published  anonymously,  and  immediately  at- 
tracted a^ Mention;  the  sale  was  rapid,  and  a  new  edition  being 
ailed  for,  Byron  revised  it.  The  preparations  for  his  travels 
aing  completed,  he  then  embarked  in  July  of  the  same  year, 
nth  Mr.  Ilobhouse,  for  Lisbon,  and  thence  proceeded  by  the 
outhern  provinces  of  Spain  to  Gibraltar. 

In  the  account  of  his   adventures  during  the  journey,  he 

eems  to  have  felt,  to  an  exaggerated  degree,  the  hazards  to 

i^hich  he  was  exposed.  But  many  of  his  descriptions  are  given 

fith  a  bright  pen.    That  of  Lisbon  has  always  been  admired 

jTor  its  justness,  and  the  mixture  offeree  and  familiarity. 

What  beauties  doth  Lisbon's  port  unfold  I 

Her  image  floating  on  that  noble  tide, 

Which  poets  vainly  pave  with  sands  of  gold, 

But  now  whereon  a  thousand  keels  did  ride, 

Of  mighty  strength,  since  Albion  was  allied; 

And  to  the  Lusians  did  her  aid  afford, 

A  nation  swoln  with  ignorance  and  pride. 

Who  lick  yet  loath  the  hand  that  waves  the  sword 
To  save  them  from  the  wrath  of  Gaul's  unsparing  lord. 

But  whoso  entereth  within  this  town, 

That  sheening  far  celestial  seems  to  be, 

Disconsolate  will  wander  up  and  down 

'Mid  many  things  unsightly  strange  to  see, 

For  hut  and  palace  show  like  filthily. 

The  dingy  denizens  are  reared  in  dirt ; 

No  personage  of  high  or  mean  degree 

Doth  care  for  cleanness  of  surtout  and  shirt. 
Though  shent  with  Egypt's  plague,  unkempt,  unwash'd,  unhurt. 


low«v«.w     4tk.^ 


i'li 


100&  iu  iiie 


_  .  „  —  uiicrwurus    vwo.  tiM  uiu 

lairs  of  Greece,  it  is  remarkable  that  he  should  have  passed 

irough  Spain,  at  the  period  he  has  described,  without  feeling 

ay  sympathy  with  the  spirit  which  then  animated  that  nation. 

Intent,  however,  on  his  travels,  pressing  onward  to  an  unknown 


50 


THE  IIPE  OP 


goal,  he  paused  not  to  inquire  as  to  the  earnefltn«.-  «^  «i,  I 
triotic  zeal  of  the  Spaniards,  nor  once  dreamt  1^!'  f  "if  H 
ture,  of  taking  apart  in  thei^  heroic  cauTe'      "  ^°'  '^^'"■' 


■fit^j^jOK^.  niaiu 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

First  acquaintance  with  Byron.-Embark  together.-The  voyage. 
It  was  at  Gibraltar  that  I  first  fell  in  vuUU  t     j  »  ■ 

had  arrived  there  in  the  packet  from  Enl^J^-'"*^  •^^•^"-    ^ 
health,  on  my  way  to  Sicily  Th-^T  *'"S:Iand,  in  indifferentl 

my  departure,  entered  into  the  society  of  Sob^t^A    3 
the  design  of  studying  the  law.  Lincoln  s-mn,  withl 

Urt^  *^''^  *'"'^  ""^  ^"*'"^'  t'^«  'ate  Colonel  Wright,  of  thearfJl  I 
pearance  attracted  mv  atLS^'nif -.Uoril^'"*; '?  ''?H 

.iw^\txr^:^i;L^'r;'I^aruL^""^'^ 

scrut  ny,  to  speculate  hnfh  no  I  \-      u  ^  unobserved 

greeawlrSddfnrt  ."'niT'"''"  ^  "  "»»  ^'^nly  di«. 


LORD   BYROIf. 


6t 


gether.— The  voyage. 


At  dinner,  a  large  party  assembled  at  Colonel  Wriffht's  • 

Itmong  others  the  Countess  of  Westmoreland,  with  Tom  Sheri' 

Idan  and  his  beauUtul  wife;  and  it  happened  that  Sheridan   in 

Irelatmg  the  local  news  of  the  morning,  mentioned  that  Lord 

Itfyron  and  Mr.  Hobhouso  had  come  in  from  Spain,  and  wore 

•to  proceed  up  the  Mediterranean  in  the  packet.    He  was  not 

acq  mmted  with  either. 

Hobhouso  had,  some  short  time  before  I  left  London,  pub. 

Wished  certain  translations  and  poems,  rather  respectable  in 

■Iheir  way,  and  I  had  seen  the  work,  so  tliat  his  name  was  not 

RJtogether  strange  to  me.     Byron's  was  familiar— the  Edin- 

iburgh  Review  had  made  it  so,  and  still  more  the  satire  of  En^. 

Jwh  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers ;  but  I  was  not  conscious  of 

waving  seen  the  persons  of  either. 

I  On  the  following  evening  I  embarked  early,  and  soon  after 
fhe  two  travellers  came  on  board  ;  in  one  of  whom  I  recognised 
m  visiter  to  the  library,  and  he  proved  to  be  Lord  Byron.  In 
ae  little  bustle  and  process  of  embarking  their  luggage,  his 
lordship  affected,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  more  aristocracy  than  be. 
nited  his  years,  or  the  occasion;  and  I  then  thought  of  his 
wngular  scowl,  and  suspected  him  of  pride  and  irascibility, 
ihe  impression  that  evP,.;  .^  ,.  s  not  agreeable,  but  it  was  in- 
[leresting;  and  that  f.  oad  mark,  the  frown,  was  calculated 
1  awaken  cunositv,  and  beget  conjectures. 

Hobhouse,  with  more  of  the  commoner,  made  himself  one 
Qt  the  passengers  at  once;  but  Byron  held  himself  aloof,  and 
9&t  on  the  rail,  leaning  on  the  mizzen  shrouds,  inhaling,  as  it 
tern  iK'"'!   ^y'npa thy,  from  the  gloomy  rock,  then  d^k  and 
iern  m  the  twilight.    There  was  in  all  about  him  that  even- 
ngmuch  waywardness;  he  spoke  petulantly  to  Fletcher,  his 
^alet;  ai.d  was  evidently  ill  at  ease  with  himself  and  fretful  to- 
tvards  others.    I  thought  he  would  turn  out  an  uns^atisfactory 
Bmpmate ;  yet  there  was  something  redeeming  in  the  tones  of 
his  voice,  when,  some  time  after  he  had  indulged  his  sullen 
!«!)!  m  u'   !  ^gam  addressed  Fletcher;  so  that,  inst  ad  of  find- 
ing tiim  Ill-natured,  I  was  soon  convinced  he  was  only  capricious. 
I    Uur  pap.age  to  Sardink  was  tardy,  owing  to  calms ;  out,  in 
other  respects,  pleasant.    About  the  third  day  Byron  relented 

fcd"  'Tl^^'^'f  ''^^'  ^'^'  ^'  ^^«  outof  pW,and  Sme 
playful  and  disposed  to  contribute  his  fair  proportion  to  the 
pneral  endeavour  to  wile  away  the  tediousness  of  the  dull 
•"j-gv..    xxa.ung  other  expedients  tor  that  purpose,  we  had 

S'lnH  '^'°°Hk^  if*  ^'i*^^-  »>'^''"'  I  ^hink,^uppired  tt 
Ke  c^tTfT  \^T  f""^  ^"*  "^'  ^^^y  pre-eminently  so. 
qL  oJS,  '  ^^^  J«"y-hoat  was  several  times  lowered ;  and,  on 
tme  ot  those  occasions,  his  lordship,  with  the  captain,  caught  a 


52 


THE  LIFE  OP 


I  h-  Hi 


turtle-I  rather  think  two-we  likewise  hooked  a  shark,  part 

?our   harH  t^^  ^-..^^kf-t,  ar.d  tasted,  without  S  ' 
your  snarK  is  but  a  cannibal  dainty. 

a  ^tnr.  ^r''-'''?  ^^^  ^."'^' ""'  ^^y  °^  ^^'^^J'^".  'n  Sardinia, 
a  strong  north  wind  came  from  the  shore,  and  we  had  a  whole 
disagreeable  day  of  tacking ;  but  next  morning,  (it  was  SunX^) 

Bvron  wirthtr  f  •'"''';  "'^^  *^«  niole,^;Lre  we  landed 
Byron,  with  the  captain,  rode  out  some  distance  into  the  coun- 
try, while  I  walked  with  Mr.  Hobhouse  about  the  townTwe 

nvitTd^Ttn'dtnn^  T'^i' '"^  Mr.  Hill,  the  ambassador,'w^o 
invited  us  to  dinner.  In  the  evening  we  landed  affain,  to  avail 
ourselves  of  the  invitation ;  and,  on  this  occasion,  Byr^n  and  Ms 
Pylades  dressed  themselves  as  aid-de-camps-.;  cfrcumstance 
which  at  the  time,  did  not  tend  to  improve  my  estSrof 

?fMif  ^."^  '^'  '^r""^'  '^  '^'^'''  But  such  tTe  force 
IJ  '  ^t  appeared  a  less  exceptionable  affectation  in  the 
joung  peer  than  in  the  commoner. 

Had  we  parted  at  Cagliari,  it  is  probable  that  I  should  hate 

thSi  of  l!o7S\"'' VT"^'^'^  'r^^^-'^on  of  Mr.  Hobhoule 
aT  Afu  ^^'^P"'  ^**^  ^^  ^'^^  '^  cheerful  companion,  full  of 
odd  and  droll  stories,  which  he  told  extremely  weS^he  was  abo 
good-humoured  and  intelligent~altogether%„  advLZeous 
specimen  of  a  well-educated  English  ientleman.  Mo?eo?er  I 
was  at  the  time  afflicted  with  I  nervous  dejection  which  the 

SeriTn  '"'^'l^'^'T  r^""''"^  ^y  ^'^«  ^"«^dotes  'a^d  college 
tales  often  materially  diss-pated;  though,  for  the  most  rJl 

.r,?rr  '^^''  '^"'^"^  ^^^  P^smge,  in  delicate  health,  and  Upon 

S  a  ^^r'  -'^rr--  ?'  '^'^^y  "^'''^  ^^^^^  nor  more X" 
half  a  glass,  mingled  with  water,  when  he  did.  He  ate  little" 
no  animal  food,  but  only  bread  and  vegetables.    He  reminded 

rest,  that  he  had  not  acquired  his  knowledge  of  the  world  bv 
always  dming  so  sparely.     If  my  remembrance  is  noUreach! 

ove2i'h:?^^  '^"'  °""  "'^"'"ff  ^'^  *h«  ^^^'^^  with  us-the 
evening  before  we  came  to  anchor  at  Cagliari;  for  when  the 
lights  were  placed,  he  made  himself  a  man  forbid  tS  his 
:^tCdtd7he"S  'TV""^  ''^'  «°  whichlheteS 

eTamor',  U '„^  J  feTf'jhe't^r  AH^r ' '''  ^"r^"^^^^' 
«,;fh  KJo  «».,-:„"  !_,'  „  \ . .  ^^^'  A"  these  peculiarities. 
..— ..  ..... .  .,^,....^^-3^  g^jjy  gg^^^„j.jjj      111 c X Di icd blo  in  the  castnrhin 

metaphysics  while  they  served  to  awaken  interest  contributed 
httle  to  conciliate  esteem.  He  was  often  strangely  rapt-  t  mav 
have  been  from  hi«  genius;  and,  had  its  grandeur  and  dSk! 
ness  been  then  divulged,  susceptible  of  exjJanaUon ;  Z,  at^e 


LORD    BYRON. 


6» 


time,  it  threw,  as  it  were,  around  him  the  sackcloth  of  peni- 
tence. Sitting  amidst  the  slirouds  and  rattlings,  in  the  tranquillity 
of  the  moonlight,  churniing  an  inarticulate  melody,  he  seemed 
almost  aj)paritional,  suggesting  dim  remmiscences  of  him  who 
I  shot  tile  albatros.  He  was  as  a  mystery  in  a  winding-sheet, 
I  crowned  with  a  halo. 

The  influence  of  the  incomprehensible  phantasma  which 
hovered  about  Lord  Byron,  has  been  more  or  less  felt  by  all 
who  ever  approached  him.     That  he  sometimes  came  out  of 
the  cloud,  and  was  familiar  and  earthly,  is  true ;  but  his  dwell- 
ing was  amidst  the  inurk  and  tlie  mist,  and  the  home  of  his 
spirit  in  the  abysm  of  the  storm,  and  the  hidmg-places  of  guilt. 
He  was,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking,  scarcely  two-and- 
I  twenty,  and  could  claim  no  higher  praise  than  having  written 
a  clever  worldly-minded  satire ;  and  yet  it  was  impossible, 
even  tlien,  to  reflect  on  the  bias  of  his  mind,  as  it  was  revealed 
I  by  the  casualties  of  conversation,  without  experiencing  a  pre- 
I  sentiment,  that  he  was  destined  to  execute  some  singular  and 
I  ominous  purpose.     The  description  he  has  given  of  Manfred 
I  in  his  youth,  was  of  himself. 

My  spirit  walkVl  not  with  the  souls  of  men, 
Nor  loolt'u  u()On  the  enrth  with  human  eyes ; 
The  thirst  of  their  ambition  was  not  mine ; 
The  aim  of  their  existence  was  not  mine. 
•  My  joys,  my  srriofs,  my  p.issions,  and  my  powers, 

Mademea  stranijer.    Tlioug:h  i  wore  the  form, 
I  had  no  sympathy  with  breathing  flesh. 
My  joy  waain  the  wilUernfss— to  bn-athe 
The  difficult  air  of  the  irod  mountain's  top, 
Where  the  bads  dare  not  build,  nor  insect's  wing 
Flit  o'er  the  herdles.s  granite  :  or  to  plunge 
Into  the  torrent,  and  to  roll  along 
On  the  swift  whirl  of  the  new-breaking  wave 
Of  river,  stream,  or  ocean  in  their  flc  ;v — 
In  these  my  early  strength  e.xulted ;  or 
To  follow  through  the  night  the  moving  moon, 
The  stars,  and  their  development ;  or  catch 
The  daiizling  lightnings  till  my  eyes  grew  dim ; 
Or  to  look  listening  oh  the  scatter'd  leaves 
While  autumn  winds  were  at  their  evening  song. 
These  were  my  i>asiimes— and  to  be  alone. 
For  if  the  beings,  of  whom  I  was  one — 
Hating  to  he  so— cross'd  me  in  my  path, 
I  felt  myself  degraded  back  to  them, 
And  was  all  clay  again. 


K  z 


64 


THE  LIFE  OP 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Dinner  at  the  ambassador's. — Opera.— Disaster  of  Byron  at  Malta.— 
Mrs.  Spencer  Sniitli. 

I  SHALL  always  remember  Cagliari  with  particular  pleasure ; 
for  it  so  happened  that  I  formed  there  three  of  the  most  agree- 1 
able  acquaintances  of  my  life,  and  one  of  them  was  with  Lord 
Byron ;  for  although  we  had  been  eight  days  together,  I  yet 
could  not  previously  have  accounted  myself  acquainted  with 
his  Lqrdship. 

After  dinner,  we  all  went  to  the  theatre,  which  was  that 
evening  on  account  of  some  court  festival,  brilliantly  illumina- 
ted.  The  Royal  Family  were  present,  and  the  opera  was  per- 
formed  with  more  taste  and  execution  than  I  had  expected  to 
meet  with  in  so  remote  a  place,  and  under  the  restrictions 
which  rendered  the  intercourse  with  the  continent  then  so 
difficult  Among  other  remarkable  characters  pointed  out  to 
us,  was  a  nobleman  in  the  pit,  actually  under  the  ban  of  out- 
lawry for  murder.  I  have  often  wondered  if  the  incident  had  j 
any  effect  on  the  creation  of  Lara ;  for  we  know  not  in  what  j 
small  germs  the  conceptions  of  genius  originate. 

But  the  most  important  occurrence  of  that  evening  arose 
from  delicate  observance  of  etiquette  on  the  part  of  the  Am- 
bassador.  Afler  carrying  us  to  his  box,  which  was  close  to 
that  of  the  Royal  Family,  in  order  that  we  might  see  the  mem- 
bers  of  it  properly,  he  retired  with  Lord  Byron  to  another  box, ; 
an  inflexion  of  manners  to  propriety  in  the  best  possible  taste— 
for  the  Ambassador  was  doubtless  aware  that  his  Lordship's 
rank  would  be  known  to  the  audience,  and  I  conceive  that  this 
little  arrangement  was  adopted  to  make  his  person  also  known, 
by  showing  him  with  distinction  apart  from  the  other  strangers. 

When  the  performance  was  over,  Mr.  Hill  came  down  with 
Lord  Byron  to  the  gate  of  the  upper  town,  where  his  Lordship, 
as  we  were  taking  leave,  thanked  him  with  more  elocution  than 
was  precisely  requisite.    The  style  and  formality  of  the  speech 
amused  Mr.  Hobhouse,  as  well  as  others;  and,  when  the  minis- 
ter  retired,  he  began  to  rally  his  Lordship  on  the  subject.    But  I 
Byron  really  fancied  that  he  had  acquitted  himself  with  grace  | 
ajiu  uigiiity,  and  took  the  juuukrity  of  his  friend  amiss — ai 
little  banter  ensued— the  poet  became  petulant,  and  Mr.  Hob- 
house  walked  on ;  while  Byron,  on  account  of  his  lameness,  and  j 
the  roughness  of  the  pavement,  took  hold  of  my  arm,  appealing 
to  me,  if  he  could  have  said  less,  afler  the  kind  and  hospitable 


LORD  BTRON. 


65 


fByron  at  Malta.— 


treatment  we  had  all  received.  Of  course,  though  I  thought 
pretty  much  as  Mr.  Hobhouse  did,  I  could  not  do  otherwise 
than  civilly  assent,  especially  as  his  Lordsliip's  comfort,  at  the 
moment,  seemed  in  some  degree  dependent  on  being  confirmed 
m  the  good  opiP'on  he  was  desirous  to  entertain  of  his  r  ^n 
courtesy.  From  that  night  I  evidently  rose  in  his  good  irracea ; 
and,  as  he  was  always  most  a,greeable  and  interesting  when 
familiar,  it  was  worth  my  while  to  advance,  but  by  cautious 
circumvallations,  into  his  intimacy  ;  for  his  uncertain  temper 
made  his  favour  precarious. 

The  next  morning,  either  owing  to  the  relaxation  of  his  ab- 
stmence,  which  he  could  not  probably  well  avoid  amidst  the 
good  (Jungs  of  the  ambassadorial  table ;  or,  what  was,  perhaps, 
less  questionable,  some  regret  for  his  petulance  towards  his 
friend,  he  wr  indisposed,  and  did  not  make  his  appearance  till 
late  ic  '  evening.  I  rather  suspect,  though  there  was  no 
evide'  -  the  far'.,  that  Hobhouse  received  any  concession 
whic  ..  iiiay  have  made,  with  indulgence ;  for  he  remarked 
to  me,  in  a  tone  that  implied  both  forbearance  and  generosity 
of  regard,  that  it  was  necessary  to  humour  him  like  a  child. 
But,  in  whatever  manner  the  reconciliation  was  accomplished, 
the  passengeis  partook  of  the  blessings  of  the  peace.  Byron, 
during  the  following  day,  as  we  were  sailing  along  the  pic- 
turesque  shores  of  Sicily,  wns  in  the  highest  spirits ;  overflow. 
ing  with  glee,  and  spar'Jing  with  quaint  sentences.  The 
champagne  was  uncorked  and  in  the  finest  condition. 

Having  landed  the  mail  at  Girgenti,  we  stretched  over  to 
Malta,  where  we  arrived  about  -noon  next  day — all  the  passen- 
gers,  except  Orestes  and  Pylades,  being  eager  to  land,  went  on 
shore  with  the  captain.  They  remained  behind  for  a  reason 
which  an  accidental  expression  of  Byron  let  out — much  to  my 
secret  amusement ;  for  I  was  aware  they  would  be  disappoint, 
ed,  and  the  anticipation  was  relishing.  They  expected— at 
least  he  did — a  salute  from  the  batteries,  and  sent  ashore  notice 
to  Sir  Alexander  Ball,  the  governor,  of  his  arrival ;  but  the  guns 
were  sulky,  and  evinced  no  respect  of  persons ;  so  that  late  in  the 
afternoon,  about  the  heel  of  the  evening,  the  two  magnates  were 
obliged  to  come  on  shore,  and  slip  into  the  city  unnoticed  and 
unknown. 

At  this  time  Malta  was  in  great  prosperity.    Her  com-nerce 


urn  a  d 


r\*^ln9af%tv\ 


iV%9-a 


■.A   tU 


♦U- 11..  _I. i 


ui  lis  proiiirB  liuAi^  I  iijo 


and  rich  at  every  door.  The  merchants  were  truly  hospitable, 
and  few  more  so  than  Mr.  Chabot.  As  I  had  letters  to  him,  he 
invited  me  to  dinner,  along  with  several  other  friends  previous- 
ly engaged.  In  the  cool  of  the  evening,  as  we  wore  sitting  at 
our  wine,  Lord  Byron  and  Mr.  Hobhouse  were  announced^ 


66 


THE  LIFE  OP 


'fi        'i!  i 


.        H  s  Lordship  was  in  better  spirits  tl,an  I  had  ever  seen  him 
His  appearance  showed,  as  he  entered  the  room,  that  tliev  hS 
met  witJi  some  adventure,  and  he  chuckled  w^trL  inward 
sense  of  enjoyment,  not  altogether  without  spleen-a  kind  of 
mahcious  satisfaction-as  liis  companion  recouped  wth  all 
becoming  gravity  their  woes  aad  sufferings,  as  an  apoC  fo 
begging  a  bed  and  morsel  for  the  night.     G;d  fbr/rive  me-^hnt 
I  partook  of  Byron's  levity  at  the  idea  of  persoSs  so  conse 
quentialwandermg  destitute  in  the  streets. ieekingVrXings" 
as  It  were  from  door  to  door,  and  rejected  at  all.  "  ^  ^ 

JVext  day,  however,  they  were  accommodated  by  the  Governor 
mth  an  agreeable  house  in  tiie  upper  part  of  Valctta  ;  and  Ws 
Lordship,  as  soon  as  they  were  domiciled,  began  to  take  lessons 

iub1i"  IbrarT  ^"°"  V/  ?-^"^^^  ^"^  ''  ''^  libr:rTans  of  h" 
public  library.     His  whole  time  was  not,  however,  devoted  to 

study ;  for  he  formed  an  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Spencer  Smith 

«ie  lady  of  the  gentleman  of  that  name,  who  had  been  our^esi 

dent  minister  at  Constantinople  :  he  affected  a  passion  for  her  ^ 

but  It  was  only  Platonic.     Siie,  however,  begu  led  him  of  his' 

"Cnm/T'^  ?TT'  ""^'    ^'^«  i«  t'^e  llorence  0?  cLde 
Harold,  and  merited  the  poetical  embalmment,  or  rather  the 

hetin'e""7h;lf "'""  «he  possesses  there-b^ing'er  If  a 
cSs  of  Lr  nr'  "^/-^^ffg^r^tjon  in  saying  that  many  in. 
cidentsof  her  hfb  would  appear  improbable  in  fiction  Her 
adventures  with  the  Marquis  de  Salvi  form  one  of  thTLttW 
romances  m  the  Italian  language;  everv  thin^  in  K!  !• 
^vas  touched  with  adventured  no'r  ^^ITt^ZLroft'^^^^^ 
to^sympathy  that  she  had  incurred  the  special  enmli;  ofTa! 

hnrt^f  'Tt'"'r?  ''5°"*  ^^'^^   ^^«^^«  at  Malta,  Byron  em- 

Knf  r    1  "'  ^"f  ^  '"  ^  '^"^  "^  ^^^'  appointed  to^convoy  a 
fleet  of  small  merchantmen  to  Prevesa      I  had  nhm,t  1  f   * 

mg:h.  before,  passed  over  with  the  pSet  on  t,tto„  ft"^ 

Messma  to  G.rgenti,  and  did  not  fall  in  with  them  ajain  UU  °h™ 

His  residence  at  Malta  did  not  greatly  interest  him      Tha 
story  of  Its  chivalrous  masters  madeVo  Impression  onT/i.  il^ 

.i"»k.  .hat  ™.ethi„g  ufp,ea-;;j:^i'„rJ:a  ;°ithS;r4Jr 


III 


LORD  BYRON. 


67 


I  may  have  been  the  cause  of  his  suppresBion  of  all  direct  aliu- 
sion  to  the  island.    It  was  impossible  that  his  imagination 
could  avoid  the  impulses  of  the  spirit  which  haunts  the  walla 
land  ramparts  of  Malta ;  and  the  silence  of  his  muse  on  a  topic 
so  rich  in  romance,  and  so  well  calculated  to  awaken  associa- 
I  tions  concerning  the  knights,  in  unison  with  the  ruminations 
j  of  Childe  Harold,  persuades  me  that  there  must  have  been 
I  some  specinc  cause  for  the  omission.    If  it  were  nothing  in  the 
jduel,  I  should  be  inclined  to  say,  notwithstanding  the  seemmg 
I  improbability  of  the  notion,  that  it  was  owing  to'some  curious 
modification  of  vindictive  spite.    It  might  not  be  that  Malta 
I  should  receive  no  celebrity  from  his  pen ;  but  assuredly  he  had 
jmet  with  something  there  which  made  him  resolute  to  forget 
I  the  place.  The  question  as  to  what  it  was,  he  never  answered : 
[the  resi'U  would  throw  light  into  the  labyrinths  of  his  cha- 
I  racter. 


CHAPTER  X. 

[Sails  from  Malta  to  Prevesa.— Lands  s.t  Patras.— Sails 
Ithaca.— Arrival  at  Prevesa. 


again.— Passes 


It  was  on  the  19th  of  September,  1309,  that  Byr-..  sailed  in 
[the  Spider  brig  from  Malta  for  Prevesa,  and  on  the  morning  of 
jthe  fourth  day  ailer,  he  first  saw  the  mountains  of  Greece; 
I  next  day  he  landed  at  Patras,  and  walked  for  some  time  among 
Ime  current-grounds  between  the  town  and  the  shore.  Around 
Ihim  lay  one  of  the  noblest  landscapes  in  the  world,  and  afar  in 
[the  north-east  rose  the  purple  summits  of  tho  Grecian  moun- 
I  tarns. 

Having  re-embarked,  the  Spider  proceeded  towards  her  des- 
Itination;  the  poet  not  receiving  much  augmentation  to  his 
jideas  of  the  grandeur  of  the  ancients,  from  the  magnitude  of 
Itheir  realms  and  states.  Ithaca,  which  he  doubtless  regarded 
Iwith  wonder  and  disappointment,  as  he  passed  ita  cliffy  shores, 
Iwas  then  in  possession  of  the  French.  In  the  course  of  a  month 
latter,  the  kingdom  of  Ulysses  surrendered  to  a  British  serjeant 
|aud  seven  men. 

Childe  Haroid  sail'd,  and  nass'd  the  barren  snot. 
Wiiere  sad  Penelope  o'erlook'd  the  wave ; 
And  onward  view'd  the  mouni,  not  yet  forgot, 
The  lover's  refuge,  and  the  Lesbian's  grave. 

But  when  be  saw  the  evening  star  above 
Leucadia's  far-projecting  rock  of  woe. 
And  hail'd  the  last  resort  of  fruitless  love, 


•^ 

f  - 


m 


111  if 


*®  THEtlPEOP 

And*^il'  JIL'^T'?'?  ''^  '■^"' "«  con'mon  glow  • 
And  as  the  stately  vessel  g.jded  slow 

Beneath  the  Khadow  of  that  ancient  mount 

Air^'K^  the  billows'  melancho?;  Zw    ' 

Md  we  can  traceTa^^viS  ;  -^^^  imagination  of  Byr^ 

his  dl«r%tii„s  '''^  '™^'^'^'^°"  ^"^"^^^i"?  "^^d  adorning 

The  wild  Albanian,  kirtled  to  his  knep 

W.th  shaw^R,rt  head  and  ornamenS'tfun 
And  gold-embroidered  garments  fa"rK'. 
1  he  cnmsoned-carfed  men  of  IMa^don  •     * 
The  I>elh,  With  his  cap  of  terro  on        ' 

to  Ti.it  tlie  governor  of  the  town    h.    "^5'^'™'  ™  proceeded 
™re  of  a  fori  .nd7he;,teTo"d.c  edtwardTS  WaT'" 

withti,.  wonted"  emfviui'Vte^^rrlr  T'l"^  '^™ 
them  with  pipe,  and  coffee  Khi  v  '  ""''  ""'"rtained 
style  of  tl.e'^^tertaiUenrWere  dt,?„  •  t'?";™''''  ""'  «>« 
of  Ottoman  grandeur  rhfwr.:afed  oTatfa  in^th^^  -it"? 
a  gronp  of  shabby  Albanian  guaids,  ,vho  h^d  li?t^t.r"'"  °' 
«nce  for  the  greatness  of  the  miprt!  I.  .u  .  J''"'  '«'"■ 
them,  and  stared  and  Wh  J T.^k  "  *^  °"  ''°™  "^'ido 
governor.  '°^''°''  "'  "■="•  ^nversation  with  the 

enSehed  .i^Z^^Z  7^tSVS.iZ%^Zi^1 
Actium  was  fought  within  the  gulf.   '^"^'="°»s-  ^he  battle  of 

Ambracia's  gulf  behold,  where  once  was  Io«t 
A  world  for  woman-lovely,  harmfesyth  nl  i 
S/r±!/JP?i'"^  "^y..  the^r  nSlTosf"*' 


LORD  BYRON. 


ftft 


JkZ!  ra?  ts:ci  i"?""?'  -'"'=''  •"  "■"•  »- 
«.» for  «.y  ™tLirL^?„sit„?c-;''  '^-^ 

Vet  in  famed  Attica  such  lovely  dales  ' 

A  chanShfv'i^  ""'  '=''»  <■«''  TemHe  boast 

consequence  of  theTrr/rZl^'^"  'i?^*'"«  dissatisfied,  in 

acquires  in  the  exercxseVfts  office  He  Tstrt'^^"^'^ 
purse-bearer  of  hi«  m,=f,,.  u  "®  '^  ^^  tongue  and 

the  Turks-a  difficult  tlkin'fhT„  V  ^^'^  ^  <^"^*y  '^i* 
manifold  trusts  demanX  h^«h.  ffu?'  ^  ^T^^and  his 
ingenious,  but  prorpfand  resolute  In  ^r'""^^^^^^  ^°^ 
this  essential  servant   th«  tr,™S  "  ^''^  quahfications  of 

never  lost  an  orp^r^itf  :f  Srb?.  T  ^°*  «>'tunat^ho 

,  On  their  ent?ancrthe  offirif        ^*r*'**?  ^^''^  ^^^  "viUty. 

after  they  had  d^ned  in  7k  ^^    ^^""^  ^^^"^  P'P«^  '^^d  coffee,  and 
I  to  spend  CevenLf  4ith  h7  °^"  J^P,^'^''"^'^*.  h«  invited  them 

take  of  his  hosplSi!^'"'"'  ^''"'  "^^  "^'^  condescended  to  par- 

wfiilTeSlrtwtiJVL^^^^  5^^^-^^^  -"W  be 
Pressionof  them  was  r^fa'nei  nTfT^'^-'S^  ST  ^"^^^  ^«  ™- 
intimately  they  e^twed  intn  ?h  uT"^  °L^^  P*^**  ^"^  ho^ 
of  Greece,  they  acqufre  dL^f  ^"bstoice  of  his  reminiscence* 

whef tht  ^i"rL^^ft  Hobhouse,  «^^^^^ 

heads,  and  moving  verv"«loJirf  ^"^"irowing  back  their 

«^e  officer  was  cafled'hatS  S?  fc^'"'  ^^  ^" 
,  haps  we  saw  afterwar  iV-  «ni  «  1  ^^^  *^"  ^y  "«»  Per- 
!  fo  us,  we  could  noTielp  stetw  X^^'  ^-^  '^'l'  ^"^**  »«^ 

lativejy  dignified  air  of  »  n^„^^  uu  '"'^•^tenal  and  »uper. 
J'     gnxned  air  of  a  man  with  great  holes  in  his  elbows. 


M>0 


l>lM':-f'!\> 


Ni  M 


tf I    I  1  '  t! 


!i     I 


60 


THE  LIFE  OP 


and  looking  altogether,  as  to  his  garment,  like  what  we  caD  a 
buII-beggar.''    Mr.  Hobhouse  describes  him  as  a  captefn ;  bu 

lltt  "T?J'  °^  "*'"  ""'«'■  ^^'"'  ^'«  ^^•^"J'l  have  £)««  of  no 
higher  rank  than  a  serjeant—Captains  are  centurions. 

*J,«         'n^'P''''  ^^^  °*''^'"  ^^'h«^  h^«  ^'^"ds  with  soap,  invitinff 

him    hel^/'  *r  K°  '^'  '^^'  ^°'  ^^^^  ^^  eaten  aSttle  wuf 
ftim,  ne  did  not,  however,  give  the  soap,  but  put  it  on  the  floor 

au  re  Th.^''  «o/«'narkable,  as  to  induce  Mr.  Hobhouse  to  b! 

surrs tition  rT^  f  '' '  ^^^  ^'  ^^'  '"^^^•"^d  that  there  is  a 

XwtwTyTove  ^^'^""^^  ^""^  «°^P--  ''  '^  t^°"S^t  M 

unSheUer*  'tu^J  '"•  *^'  *'''"'"^''  ^^^"  "^"^^^  ^^  ^«™^4 
^n  HiAi  •     ?^     !''*'•'''"§:  was  again  spent  with  the  soldiers, 

^Sll  H  ?'  ^"'''f-  *^  r"^"  t'^^"''  ^ith  Greek  and  Albanian 
songs  and  freaks  of  jocularity. 

«;Jw^\'''°'""'"^  ^'^  *^®  ^^  °^  October  they  set  out  for  Arta. 

rilT  anTtl'  f"  f"  ^'^^"'-^-^-d  servU  four  fortheS 

akf  S^Ih^i  ""^  ^°'  ^7  '"'i'"'"'  ^hom  they  were  induced  to 

to  Ar7a  ?n  rSr  f?"^    fy'^t'^^^'  "°  "^^^^^^  °f  ^is  visit 
w  Arta  in  Childe  Harold;   but  Mr.  Hobhouse  has  mven  a 

lemrkaSlT""'  "'  '''  *°""-  ^'^^  "^'  *^^^^  ^^^h  SnA 
ofTi?»  f™*'n^7,pf  the  journey  to  Joannina,  the  capitol  then 
wetness  :?r  ^^^  ^^^aw  was  rendered  unpleasant  by  the 
Tcortrv  «n  -T"'^"''  '.*'".  '^r'  i"^POS«ible  to  pass  through 
Sv  S  ffnH?^^  "'f  ^fu  '"•  ^t'  ^"^tures,  and  rendered  romantic 
impress  onsn??h  f^'"^.^T'  ""'^  conflicts,  without  receiving 
Eer^  nn%f  *.^'"'*  of  imagery  which  constitutes  the  em- ' 
oroiaerj  on  the  vestment  of  poetry. 

The  first  view  of  Joannina  seen  in  the  morninff  liffht.  or 
fc"^  J"  *• '  """'"^  «""' ''  «^«^y  ^d  alluring.  The  house°  ' 

IemonC.'^'T''''''^T^  '^''^^^  gardens^of  orange  Si 
lemon  trees,  and  groves  of  cypresses;  the  lake  spreadinff  its 

Kt"  roTnd  *  ^'  '^'l?'  !?'  ^°""'  ^"^  ^''^  ^ounCns "fsiig 

AcherusL  M      Tp-'".  '"''^  '^.'*'  P^''^^'^  ^  '^^e  kke  was  the 
5-  ni  T ,    '  ^°"''t  Pmdus  was  in  sight,  and  the  Elysian  fields 

m  approachmg  the  town.  "^  ^*"°''" 

chwactertHp^/.r""'"^  they  were  appalled  by  a  spectacle 
MtTlfS^JT!!:..^?^^^^^^^^^  "^-tcher's  sho'p,  they 
nart  nC  tu^  -5  **"'"'  ^r""'  """g"3  ui  »  irco  a  mau's  arm,  with 
Cole  bar  n^»,  "  ^^^  t^e  body.-How  long  is  it 'since 
skuZ of  thL  w^^  heart  of  London,  was  adorned  with  the 

LyXteth«ln  5  ''°"''"*^"  ^^°  were  beheaded  for  their 
ioyalty  to  the  son  and  representative  of  their  ancient  kings! 


)P 

•nient,  like  what  we  call  a 
)e8  him  as  a  captain;  bull 
he  could  have  been  of  no  I 
Qs  are  centurions, 
i  hands  with  soap,  inviting 
ey  had  eaten  a  little  with 
tap,  but  put  it  on  the  floor 
Juce  Mr.  Hobhouse  to  in- 
i  informed  that  there  is  a 
g  soap:  it  is  thought  it 

rs  were  obliged  to  remain 
1  spent  with  the  soldiers, 
vith  Greek  and  Albanian 

er  they  set  out  for  Arta, 
id  servants,  four  for  their 
)m  they  were  induced  toj 
ces  no  notice  of  his  visit 
Hobhouse  has  given  a 
net  there  with  nothing 

annina,  the  capitol  then 
!ered  unpleasant  by  the 
possible  to  pass  through 
,  and  rendered  romantic 
flicts,  without  receiving 
lich  constitutes  the  em- 

the  morning  light,  or  i 
d  alluring.  The  houses,] 
gardens  of  orange  and 
the  lake  spreading  its 
d  the  mountains  rising 
;  a  landscape  new  and 
illel?  The  lake  was  the 
,  and  the  Elysian  fields 
3ver  which  they  passed 

>palled  by  a  spectacle 
a  butcher's  shop,  they 
rcG  a  iiiairs  arm,  with 
•How  long  is  it  since 
,  was  adorned  with  the 
ere  beheaded  for  their 
iieir  ancient  kings! 


tORD  BYRON. 


61 


The  object  of  the  visit  to  Joannina  was  to  see  Ali  Pashaw 
in  those  days  the  most  celebrated  vizier  in  all  the  western  pro- 
vinces  of  the  Ottoman  empire ;  but  he  was  then  at  Tepellen^. 
The  luxury  of  restmg,  however,  in  a  capital,  was  not  tobe  re- 
sisted,  and  they  accordmgly  suspended  their  journey  until  they 
had  satisfied  their  curiosity  with  an  inspection  of  every  object 
which  merited  attention.  Of  Joannina,  it  may  be  said  they 
were  almost  the  discoverers,  so  little  was  known  of  it  in 
Jingland— I  may  say  in  Western  Europe—previous  to  their 
visit. 

The  palace  and  establishment  of  Ali  Pashaw  were  of  regal 
splendour,  combining  with  oriental  pomp  the  elegance  of  the 
Occident,  and  the  travellers  were  treated  by  the  vizier's  officers 
with  all  the  courtesy  due  to  the  rank  of  Lord  Byron,  and  every 
facility  was  afl'orded  them  to  prosecute  their  journey.  The 
weather,  however— the  season  being  far  advanced— was  wet 
and  unsett  ed,  and  they  suffered  more  fatigue  and  annoyance 
than  travellers  for  information  or  pleasure  should  have  had  to 
encounter. 

The  journey  from  Joannina  to  Zitza  is  among  tJie  happiest 
sketches  m  the  pilgrimage  of  Childe  Harold. 

He  pass'd  bleak  Pindus,  Acherusia's  lake, 

And  left  the  primal  city  of  the  land, 

And  onwards  did  his  further  journey  take 

To  greet  Albania's  chief,  whose  dread  command 

Is  lawless  law ;  for  with  a  bloody  hand 

He  sways  a  nation,  turbulent  and  bold  : 

Yet  here  and  there  some  daring  mountain-band 

i»isdajn  his  power,  and  from  their  rocky  hold 
Hurl  their  dehance  far,  nor  yield  unless  to  gold. 

Monastic  Zitza!  from  thy  shady  brow. 

Thou  small,  but  favour'd  spot  of  holy  ground ! 

Y,n3re'er  we  gaze,  above,  around,  below, 

VVhat  rainbow  tints,  what  magic  charms  are  found! 

Kock,  river,  forest,  mountain,  all  abound ; 

And  bluest  skies  that  harmonize  the  whole. 

Beneath,  the  distant  torrent's  rushing  sound, 

Tells  where  the  volumed  cataract  doth  roll 
Between  those  hanging  rocks  that  shock  yet  please  the  soul. 

In  the  course  of  this  journey  the  poet  happened  to  be  alone 
witn  his  guides,  when  they  lost  their  way  during  a  tremendous 
inunderstorm,  and  he  has  commemorated  the  circumstance  in 
tae  spirited  stanzas  beginning 

Cuiii  and  mirk  ia  the  nightly  blast. 


i  b,.<      ill 


«2 


THE  IIPE  OP 


CHAPTER  XL 


f:i    ;n 


?f  the  monks,  throiurh  a  small. Ir  •*''"^  ^^'^'^y  ^^^h  on, 
"on.  on  which  m^^rksof  ZonJ'^li"/  -^t  ^^^  P^^ted  wid 
fore  the  coiuifry  ]»;  d  heenU-lZZu-  '''^'}^^  ^"^  ^^^h,  be] 
minion  of  Ali  j'ashaw  hJi  i!!^^."''"^^  ""'^^'^  the  vigorous  dJ 
the  robbers  who7hen"int^^^^^^  ^«-«d  fn  vain  bl 

meek  and  lowly  man  Inflrf  ■  ^'''^^^'''''^'^'  The  prior  J 
with  grapesTnL  p'lanT^S^^  '^'""  ^^  ^  ^^"»  ^^Cd 
ftet,  ashe  informed  them   h"         '^"'^'  "°*  *'°'^^«"  °"t  by  th? 

gentle  and  kindlost  B^'^n  aL^ff^t 'V'^^^^       '^'M 
nasticZitza."         .     ^       ^^^(iea  in  hie  description  of  «Mo 

WWc?  werl  irnVr^l?*  '=™"'"«  y""  ^"fted  hill 
Nor  meaaril  nf  hi=  «u    '      .  ^^'^^  '"  he, 

^hich  they  were  obliged  to  cro.s In  ""'"T  ^I'^'"  ^  ^™ hill' 
most  forcible  touches?f  tL  S  ^etcS"^  ""''^  '°"^^  °^H 

Close  Shamed  S'^i^  ^.^"  '  '""  '  "pSji!- 

Shamed  Lly^rum's  gat.s,  m/^hade  shall  ^ek  for  noaer       I 

ge  K,,^^^^^^^^^^^^  route,  is  now  eal  J 

?Ai^  ^--ds  the  eveninrr;ll^!?l  -  '^^  ^von  atj 
^.j-on  nad  not  lost  all  it,^^^'''  "V7  °"'"'"  ^^"^  '"  thmiti 
thunderstorm   came  oraccomoa^^^^^^^^^ 
which  more  than  once  nearlT^    ^?  "^"'^  ^^^''S^^  of  rainj 
'worses.    Byron  hiSf Zs^^^rnottX^  their\,ggage  and 

noi  notice  this  incident  in  Childe! 


LOHD  BYROR. 


«a 


^  mountain  flr 


[arold,  nor  even  the  adventure  more  terrific,  which  he  met 
ith  alone  in  srmilar  circumstances  on  the  night  before  their 
irrival  at  Zitza,  when  his  guides  lost  their  way  in  the  defiles, 
i  the  mountams— adventuress  sufficiently  disagreeable  ia  tho^ 
dvent,  but  full  of  poesy  in  the  remembrance. 
The  first  halt,  after  leaving  Zitza,  was  at  the  little  village  of 
osure,  where  they  were  lodged  in  a  miserablf  cabin,  the 
isidence  of  a  poor  priest,  who  treated  them  with  all  the  kind- 
less  his  Immblc  means  afforded.     From  this  place  they  pro- 
eeded  next  mornmg  through  a  wild  and  savage  country,  inw 
erspersed  with  vineyards,  to  Delvinaki,  where  it  would  seem, 
■hey  farst  met  with  genuine  Greek  wine ;  that  is,  wine  mixed' 
"ith  resm  and  hme  ;  a  more  odious  draught,  at  the  first  taste 
an  any  drug  the  apothecary  mixes.    Considering  how  mucfc 
i  allegory  enten  d  into  the  composition  of  the  Greek  my. 
hology,  It  IS  probable  that  in  representing  tho  infant  Bacchua 
lolding  a  pme,  the  ancient  sculptors  intended  an  impersona- 
ftion  of  the  circumstance  of  resin  being  employed  to  preserve 
new  wme.  ^ 

The  travellers  were  now  in  Albania,  the  native  region  of 
Ah  Pashaw,  whom  they  expected  to  find  at  Libokavo ;  but  on 
entering  the  town,  they  were  informed  that  he  was  farther  un 
the  country  at  Tepellen6,  or  Tepalen.  his  native  place,  lit 
their  route  from  Libokavo  to  Tepalen  they  met  with  no  ad-' 
venture,  nor  did  they  visit  Argyro-castro,  which  they  saw  some- 
nine  or  ten  miles  off"— a  largo  city,  8upp<jsed  to  contain  about 
twenty  thousand  inhabitants,  chiefly  Turks.  When  they 
reached  Cezarades,  a  distance  of  not  more  than  nine  miles. 
Which  had  taken  them  five  hours  to  travel,  they  were  agreeably 
accommodated  for  the  night  in  a  neat  cottage;  and  the  Alba- 
man  landlord,  in  whose  demeanour  they  could  discern  none  of 
that  cringing  downcast  sinister  look  which  marked  the  de- 
graded  Greek,  received  them  with  a  hearty  welcome. 

Next  morning  they  resumed  their  journey,  and  halted  one 
night  more  before  they  reached  Tepellene,  in  approaching-^ 
Which  they  met  a  carriage,  not  inelegantly  constructed  after 
the  tierman  fashion,  with  a  man  on  the  box  driving  four-in- 
ilfk-  j'^'^i*^"  Albanian  soldiers  standing  on  the  footboard 
behind.  They  were  floundering  on  at  a  trot  tlirough  mud  and 
mire,  boldly  regardless  of  danger;  but  it  seemed  to  the  En- 

~u  ~\A^ '    ''""   ■"'^•-^*^^=^"  ""i^^asiDic    mat   sucii    u  veljicitt 

should  ey,  r  be  able  to  reach  Libokovo,  to  which  it  was  bound. 
^n  due  tinae  they  crossed  the  river  Laos,  or  Voioutza,  which 
w-s  then  full,  and  appeared  both  to  Byron  and  his  friend  as 
broad  as  the  Thames  at  Westminster;  after  crossing  it  on  a 
stone  bridge,  they  came  in  sight  of  Tepellen^,  when.—. 


64 

THE  LIFE  OP       . 

The  shJe'u  of  wonted  nT.l  f ""'"  ''""""i  by; 
When  down   Jsteen  h«?["  ""*'«  «ati.erini  yet 

;j.e glittering SS^^'IJ^""^^^^  the.lcy. 
Wiio»e  wails  o'erlonir  ihl  .  ^P^'en, 

beheld  some  hundred  yoara  JIo  f„  ! h  ^  '"'f^^  P^'^^P^.  ^ave 
feudal  baron.  SoldiersfS  the  V  '^,'^'-y^^d  of  a  great 
rrrr^'^*^  in  difr^rTit  Ann  jr  ^e^^'^^tthelaS 

completely  caparisoned,  were7ed  ^i^  ^  ^u"'* '  ^^""^""^  ^"^'^^l 
under  the  hands  of  theVT^ms    „n^'"/'  °i^'"  ^«^«  n«ghS  ' 
armed  cooks  were  busy  dreTsTn^  t  w'^  ^°'/''"  ^^'"t  ^^ the  night 
described  with  the  po:{'s  Sf^t';': -'^  «^««P-   The  seen?  i5 

Of*'J!f/!lPK  ""*'"'<'•  a  ready  row 
cLSte'S;  e\Venr/^"-ii*«  «^-e. 

^-^  "j-umsaound  announced  the  close  of  day. 

Scanning  the  motley  scf^ffhof'"^- '»  S*"""!®, 
.  There  some  grave  MoE  /«  1   '""•'"«  """"nd^ 

'  And  8ome  that  smokP  ITh  ^  '^^^''-on  stoops, 

Here  the  Albalii^ Jrou'd"y  Sl't^.'/''^^'^^  ^^"nd.' 
Half  whispering,  there  1 1.1  rr!t- ^''u  ^'■""  -''• 

Hark!  from  the  moVquetLS,'"     •'"'^  ''^  P'^^*' 
..      The  Muezzin's  call  doth  shaKi^  '°'^""'  «°"°d; 
There  ,8  no  god  but  God !^to  pfaVe  «  Tr'f- 
Tfco  .^«-  ?•  .  *^ '*'^'^~'o.  God  IS  ffreat !" 

places  where  they  wefe  sUtW,  ^'^f"  ?'''  ^^^otionsln  the 
those  around  them,  wCwe "e  o^herw!''"'"'''^  ^^  unnoticed  by 
er8  last  about  ten  minuZ  thp!  '^  e'npioyed.-The  pra7 
generally  in  a  low  voirp!'  !?^^  ^^^  not  uttered  aloud   W 

TepsUen^,  not  more  than  8^™  {if       "'"''"''  '»"™»  »' 
^e  AlUn™.  „e  not  -idYtrf-^MTSnTeVn^rK 


lOHD  BVROn. 


65 


o?l'r""  ^"^^•^''''"^  ^'--^^--  '^i^turbs  the  devotioa 

sal  kept  upinthe3rv    and  hv^'^*"*'  "°*'"'  ''^^''^  «'^™u! 
[voice  of  the  Muezzi^I     ^ '  ^  "'^  '^''"^^  *"*^  "^«  occasional 

Just  at  this  season  Rnmazani's  faHl 

Revel  a..d  feast  Suf;  he'rV,  ^  tZ^"  """' 
Now  all  was  bustle,  ml  th"  m^n   ^trnin 

,     But  from  th,;  chambers  c.        1    '  '^ !"  ""y"' 
Andpageand«IaveJS^;S-    •i^Lg'ra'/;;. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

*o  them  that  hTHLhn««/  !.^  ^ '^'''^  ^*°*^  announced 

draffoman     TK       t^^*^''  vizier,  and  attended  by  their  own 

Pp,  surrounded  bvfhT     ^'  'P^^'^"'  *^^  handsomely  fitterl 

Roisterers  call  a^Ditfn  «P^«^««/f .  «>°tinued  sofa  whrch  tiio 

call  a  Divan,  covered  with  richly^mbroidered  vel. 

f  i9 


66 


THE  LIFE   OP 


Kf^f^"'''!''"^  ''*'*  '^  S'^"*"'  freshness  fling, 

Au  reclined ;  a  man  of  war  and  woes. 

Whi'.r  r  "  Vi"''''*'"^"*^  y<^  •=^»n"^t  trace. 
While  Gentleness  her  milder  radiance  throws 

Th  ^'"U^  V^^^  ''Sed  venerable  face, 

The  deeds  that  lurk  beneath  and  stain  him  with  disgrace 

Tii  ImWoM''^^  y°"  ^""^^y  lengthening  beard 
111  suns  the  passions  that  belong  to  youth  • 
Love  conquei^  age-so  Hafiz  hath  averr'd-' 
|o  sings  the  Teian  and  he  sings  in  sooth- 
But  crimes  that  scorn  the  tender  voi^  of  Ruth 
Beseeming  all  men  ill,  but  most  the  man  ' 

In  years  have  mark'd  him  with  a  tiger"  tooth- 

rn  hfl^'f  *^"'*'^'  ^'"«'^'  «"J  through  thefrmortasD-in 
In  bloodier  acts  conclude  those  whS  with  blood  began  ' 

Turkish  gravity.     His  beard  was  lonjr  and  hoarv  In        ?  " 
one  as  any  other  Turk  wnnM  K„, «  u  ^  "oary,  and  such  a 

which  has  becomeT»»Sr     i^"'''f  "''''''™-  »'«■""' 

;.  wiu  n.  he  ..t:2^ht%tif  ht:'r,x^t^:ffi 


LORD  BYRON. 


67 


re  marble  basin,  in 


Lppened  to  myselfduring  a  visit  to  Velhi  Pashaw,  the  son  of 
Vih  :  he  was  then  \izier  of  the  Morea,  and  residing  at  Tripo- 

In  the  afternoon  about  four  o'clock,  I  set  out  for  the  serarfio 

nth  Ur.  Teriano,  the  vizier's  physician,  and  the  vizier's  Italian 

Secretary.  The  gate  of  the  palace  was  not  unlike  the  entr?ice  to 

borne  of  the  closes  in  Edinburgh,  and  the  court  within  re:Jnded 

K  u  M  ■>•  '^'  '"^  ^""^°" '  ^"*  ^*  ^^«  "ot  surrounded  by  such 
Bofty  buildings,  nor  in  any  degree  of  comparison  so  well  con- 
■Btructed.  We  ascended  a  ruinous  staircase,  which  led  to  an 
open  gallery  where  three  or  four  hundred  of  the  vizier's  Al- 
banian  guards  were  lounging.  In  an  antichamber,  which 
■r/fn  M'°™  -AA,  ^"""^T  a  number  of  officers  were  smoking, 
land  in  the  middle,  on  the  floor,  two  old  Turks  were  seriously 
lengaged  at  chess.  ^ 

I    My  name  being  s^^nt  in  to  the  vizier,  a  guard  of  ceremony 
Iwas  called,  and  after  tliey  had  arranged  themselves  in  the  pre- 
Isence-chamber,  I  was  admitted.    The  doctor  and  the  secretary 
■having,  in  the  meantime,  taken  off  their  shoes,  accompanied 
line  m,  to  act  as  interpreters.                                             ^ 
I    Tt®  P/'^«<^nce.chamber  was  about  forty  feet  square,  showv 
an.  handsome  ;  round  the  walls  were  placed  sofas,  which,  from 
Ibeing  covered  with  scarlet,  reminded  me  of  the  woolsacks  in 
the  House  of  Lords.     In  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room,  ele- 
vated on  a  crimson  velvet  cushion,  sat  the  vizier,  wrapped  in  a 
superb  pehsse :  on  his  head  was  a  vast  turban,  in  his  belt  a 
dagger,  incrusted  with  jewels,  and  on  the  little  finger  of  his 
right  hand  he  wore  a  solitaire  as  large  as  the  knob  on  the  stop. 
perot  a  vinegar-cruet,  and  which  xvas  said  to  have  cost  two 
tnousand  five  hundred  pounds  sterling.  In  his  left  hand  he  held 
a  string  of  small  coral  beads,  a  comboloio  which  he  twisted 
^ckwards  and  forwards  during  the  greater  part  of  the  visit. 
Un  the  sota  beside  him  lay  a  pair  of  richly -ornamented  London- 
made  pistols.     At  some  distance,  on  the  same  sofa,  but  not  on 
a  cushion,  sat  Hornet,  the  Pashaw  of  Napoli  Romania,  whose 
son  was  contracted  m  marriage  to  the  vizier's  daughter.    On 
the  floor,  at  the  foot  of  this  pashaw,  and  opposite  to  the  vizier, 
a  secretary  was  writing  despatches.   These  were  the  only  per- 
sons in  the  room  who  had  the  honour  of  being  seated ;  for  ac- 
I  cording  to  the  etiquette  of  this  viceregal  court,  those  who  re- 
ceived  the  viziers  pay  were  not  allowed  to  sit  d^™"  i»  »>"  "— 
oeiice.  *  "^ 

I  h\2^  "7  entrance,  his  Highness  .notioned  to  me  to  sit  beside 
n^m,  and  through  the  medium  of  the  interpreters  began  with 
some  commonplace  courtly  insignificancies,  as  a  prelude  to 
raore  mteresting  conversation.    In  his  manners  I  found  him 


68 


THE  LIFE  OP 


free  and  affkble,  with  a  considerable  tincture  of  humour  n.J 

imeiy.     i'tpes  and  coffee  were  in  the  mean  time  servf^H     TiJ 
pipe  presented  to  the  vizier  wa«  at  least  twelve  feet Tol-Tf 

size  of  an  ordinary  cucumber,  and  fastened  to  the  shaft  hv  J 
broad  hoop  of  gold,  decorated  with  jewels     m  le  the  ni- 

nicne,  be^ran  to  play,  and  continued  doin?  so  until  tiii^  r^l 
many  was  over.  The  coffee  was  literally^  L^of  drelfn  J 
very  ..nill  chma  cup,  placed  ;n  a  golden  socket  m^^H/!},] 
ness  was  served  with  his  coffee  by  Lhaw  Bey  his  Jene^^ 
Th^'^hf r '  if '  t''  '""  7r^  °^  ^  dun'cSret^ 
eTuoStShi^'k^rS^^^^^^^ 

S^et^r  he  1":"°"^  f  ''^'"'^^  ^"S^  "^^^^"^^S  n!e  7an  inter 
S&  "'^'^  *°  "°"^"^  ^^"^  ^"'^^ti^"^  ^ith  delicacy  and) 

noi?f«  y^'^'^'S  to  retire,  his  Highness  informed  me,  with  morel 

^  I"     e  snare  ot  the  ease  and  politeness  of  Christendom      TJi« 
dm.or  surpassed  all  count  and  reckoning,  dish  foHcTed  dish 

ftonour  his  Highness's  entertainment  as  Ceesar  did  the  suoner 

veraI^?pT«  ;?      ^''^  '^'^^i''  ^^'"^^^'  ^^^  sung  and  played  se- 
vera^  pieces  of  very  sweet  Turkish  music.    Amonff  others  was 

wnich  was  pleasinffly  simnle  and  natk^tin     j  u- j  u!.-_j  .i..".  1 

Sd  Sidfr-^  «--»~-iJ«e^on  of  ^wchTari;:;! 

of  me  B^vZflt  ^"*«^r ''1^  ""^  ^"^^'''  ^""^'sting  chiefij 
contrasts  the  tranquillity  of  his  retirement  with  the  perils  and 


LORD  BYRON. 


69 


AXieUesofhxa  former  grandeur.  Afler  the  songs,  the  servants 
f  the  officers,  who  were  Albanians,  danced  a  Macedonian  reel 
In  which  tr,ey  exhibited  several  furious  specimena  of  Highland 
.111  y.    The  officers  then  took  their  leave,  and  I  went  to  £d 
qually  gratified  by  the  hospitality  of  the  'vizier  and  tb^ind.' 
Bents  of  the  entertainmont. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

lie  effect  of  AH  Poshaw's  character  on  Lord    Byron  -SkPich  nf  th. 

Although  many  traits  and  lineaments  of  Lord  Byron's  own 
Iharacter  may  be  traced  in  the  portraits  of  his  heroes,  I  have 
ht  often  thought  that  Ali  Pashaw  was  the  model  from  which  he 
Irew  several  of  their  most  remarkable  features;  and  on  this  ac 
cuntit  may  be  expedient  to  give  a  sketch  of  that  bold  and  stern 
ersonage;  if  I  am  correct  in  my  conjecture- and  the  reader 
^  judge  for  himself  when  the  picture  is  before  him-it  would 
I  a  great  defect,  accorumg  to  the  plan  of  this  work,  not  to 

Ali  Pashaw  was  born  at  Tepellen^,  about  the  year  1750.  His 

Kp/'^Af  J^^    !I  fr*"^"  *^"''  ^"^  possessed  of  little  in- 
luence.    At  his  death  Ah  succeederl  to  no  inheritance  but  the 

uTf  u^^'''''  ^®  "^^^  ^''"  •  ^""^  '*■  was  ^J3  boast,  m  the  pleni- 
Ne  of  his  power,  tnat  tie  began  hi.  fortune  witl.  sixty  paras. 
Ilwut  eighteen  pence  sterling,  and  a  musket.  At  that  time 
fce  country  was  much  infested  with  cattle-stealers,  and  the 
K.  '  reighbouring  villages  were  oft.n  phm- 

uil  *'°"!,''*?^  *  ^^J  followers  from  among  the  retainers  of  his 

£  ;d"ntpr'''^"^'^!f'L^'^*  °*'°"«  ^"'^^«'  then  0  xnother! 
ErttT  J'  f'^'^^'^i  h"  power,  and  at  last  found  him* 
le  tat  the  head  of  a  considerable  body  of  Albanians,  whom  he 

Ct.r7r  f  ^-  •?'* '' '"  ^  '^°'"^'  °"«  °^*h°««  independent  free- 
C^^of  f  ?''nr™°"^.^h^."'?^''^'  '°  ™"^'^  of  th«  "ches  and 

IcvenueS  or  the  (Ittnmnn  Ar^mi^i^^^ 
I    I      ,.  J,       .      -    ".•■f^ll=i 

Id  revpZ"^K"f  »!•"'  '^'*''^''  h*  ""^^  ^^th  "^^"y  adventures 
Cnl;  K  A^"'  ^''  '^^""^  ^*«  «*"^  °"W"d.  and  miiformiy 

fcv  seiL7^"  .vanquished  in  the  field;  and  when  acci- 
ptali>  seized  m  private,  they  were  treated  with  equal  rigour. 


70 


THE  LIFE  OF 


V        :■!! 


H;:.-  '.ri 


Reclined  and  feverish  in  the  bath 
He,  when  the  hunter's  sport  was  u'd 
But  I.ttle  deem-d  a  brother's  wS  "h 
To  quench  his  thirst  had  such  a  cup  • 
The  bovvl  a  bribed  attendant  bore- 
He  dranli  one  draught,  nor  needea  more. 

tha^"otf  falL  J3„tlr°„'ii;ri/"*T^^^^  ^^^" »-«"  --| 
perial  armies,  and  C  se3  at  th^  K  "^  *''°°P  ^°  ^^e  In,, 
against  the  RussLs     Hp  W     v     ''  ^^^'^  ^^^^  distinction 
w^Il  ever  to .rt"  iLeff^t^ni^^^^^^^  ^°^--'  H 

that  he  had  frequently  been  nf^r.ra  >l,:    •  .  ^*^  reported 

the  empire,  bufhe  al™  1^1^^^^^^ 

only  amongst  the  fa  nTsses  of  hk  nT  '"^«?"^l-t  ^or  power 
the  skiJl  aitl  courale  with  whfch  t "  !  ''^'°"-  ®^°"«^  4 
chinations  to   procure  hL  head    17^'''^''!^  '^"^'"'^  ™H 

throughout  the  country,  a^^damo'ni  the  Gr'/^lT' -""^  P°P"H 
was  certainly  reaarderf  T^inS^^      ,  ^^^^^^  »  general  he 

himself     Bu^  t Sh  distn  St       TJ^  *°  ^"  g^^"^  viz.er 

the  field  fought Shetu^Lf^tir'*  ^f  ?"'*'^'  ^^  ^^^^^  W 

against  the  famous  reLTpt  jf  oS     oTh^'  ^^'^"1"^^ 
that  war,  in  1708   hn  ^xru.  ;  "ff'ou-    On  his  return  from 

three  tail's  or  vSranTv^n.''  '''''T''''^  "^^^«  ^  P^^^aw  of 
mate  dignity  oTlrand  vizier  TJ  *'^^",?"*^«  «ff«red  the  ulti 
nours  of'tl  JmetCl'Th;  '.l?^!^'l\_^-"??d  all  the  h.| 
temporary  power,  but  to  found  a  kingd'om  "  '''"°'"''"  ""''  ""'l 

ofwL'rVdhVZeTs^iS 

to  buy  ti;e  P^'^^z:::^t'^si^^ 


for  vtrhi 

ildest  i 

lition  I 

le  sapj 

16  arr 

[imseii 

TJie 

lishinj 

Iposition 

[tlie  nat! 

determi 

valleys 

bitants 

tirely  c< 

Sulliotc! 

ceut  to  I 

and  hilli 

possesse 

protectei 

and  as  e 

tributior 

Against 

wore  b'! 

the  coun 

A  shoi 

a  large 

tween  th 

Mouctar 

spot    Ti 

after  the 

of  protec 

where  th 

prisoner. 

prison,  b' 

Constanti 

to  do  whg 

l^an  whic 

ing  Joanr 

By  thcs 

part  of  A. 

which  we 

■  •"isequen 

their  perse 

but  impro' 

over  the  i 

foads,  adoj 


LORD  BYRON. 


on  spite  some  of  hig 


71 


Si.?        m^''?  ««^'^"ty-five  thousand  pounds  sterlinff.    His 
eldest  Bon,  Mouctar,  was  of  a  more  warliE  turn,  with  ifss  am 
«t,on  than  his  brotner.  At  the  epoch  of  which  I  Tm  speakiZ" 
.e  sopphed  hi«  father's  place,  at  the  head  of  the  JSbani^s  fn 
he  armies  of  the  sultan,  in  which  he  greatly  distirSed 

bitents  who  had  been  always  in  rebellion,  and  we^e  never  en' 

I  Lerand'thenU''^?^'^'  ^"^'^  ^^  ^^  Chimerfote     the" 
S^^  t  to  the  1^^^^  ^'"""g^t  the  mountains  ;dja. 

andhm   of  eTrt  ^r  of  b^r  ''^    ^''''^''  *^^«'  ^^e  woods 
»im  iiuis  or  every  part  of  his  dominions  were  in  a  ffreat  dfiwrw* 

A  short  time  before  the  arrival  nf  T  «r^  r        or  expelled. 

Xr  fbT  f r  7^^"''  ^^^^  ^"^"^  ^^^d^d  by  a  Greek  priSt  who 

Kn  but  nl^f-     ""^'i/^  *^.^  ^''"^^"'  Ali  confined  him  in 
SSn^       f    ^""  '^^"  ""*^'  ^  messeng      could  brin^r  from 
SowhS'n r'T'T"/^""^  *he  Po^rte  to  authofreS" 
man  which  Rv^i'^'^i,''/*'  *^'  '^^^-I^  ^^«  ^he  arm  of  JK^ 
Kn  W^        ^'^'^^  '"^P""^^*^  ^'^^"^  ^«  ■'^"gh  o«  enter! 

parWrmli5'''°"!,"!f  ^'"'■'''  ^  "  P^^h^w  '•endercd  the  greater 
Sh  wlieTr''"'^  '^''  contiguous  districts  safely  accfssTble! 
I™  '^^':?  b.«^ore  over-rnn  by  bandits  anH  irn<.Kn«.„.„ .  "fj 

but  improved  n?«  ^"^w!'-  ""'.^1^^  ^"^^^^^^'^  ^is  own  revenues^ 

over  Th^fver     Xh''°"  "^  ^^'^  ^"^j^^*«-     ^e  built  bridges' 

roads,  adorned  t'h/il^     causeways  over  the  marshes,  ope^d 

,  aaoined  the  country  and  the  towns  with  new  buildings. 


i^'i 


i^illl 


ilil 


72 


THE  LIFE  0¥ 


and  by  maay  salutary  reguJatbns,  acScd  the  porv  of  »  i 
though  a  nforciless  prince.  «  ♦  ix.  or  a  j 

In  privatf  life  he  was  no  less  Jistingui  ]'t-d  for  the  same  vM 

with    he  oP        n     t1        '  '^".^^"^^'^r,  was  a  great  favourii 

found  her  m  tears.     He  qunstic-K-d  he:  several  tiroes  i'   o  tf ' 
cause  of  her  gri..-  she  at  ;..t  reluci.ntly  ad  t^^ted^S 
1^  arc^e  frojn  «k>  dirninution  of  h.r  'uisbaid's  reg  . . '^^.  ^ 
q.ureu  ^f  she    hought  he  paid  af.enL.-n  to  other  women  •  ch 
raplj  «vas  ,„  the  .iflrmative ;  and  siie  roluicd  that  a  ladrof  ttl 

f  -  ;rS  vt    ^°'?  '  ^'^r  .'^'^  ^^'^  «««-'"  at  the  bath,  upon  tJ 

.(..,  and  winch  she  had  oilen  in  vain  entreated  him  to  ?ive  t1 
ier     All  immediately  ordered  the  bdv  to  be  seizS  and  to 
.ed  up  m  a  sack,  and  cast  into  the  kke.      vSus  ^erstnl 

mad^aHplf'^'''*'-'  °^  *^^i.'  ^"^'■"P^^  ^^^d   ^"thless  warri. 
Sed    t?P  ""P^«««^?^  on  the  mind  of  Byron  cannot  be  que. 

versed  thJcnnnT"''  '"  ""^^"^  ^''  ^'''^  '''''^  '-^^  the  poeJtraJ 


4» 
t 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Leave  Joannina  for  Prevesa.-Land  at  Fanari.-Albania.-Byron's 
character  of  the  inhabitants.  uyrons 

Having  gratified  their  curiosity  with  an  insnectin  i  nF  Av^rJ 

SrVtrthe!  ''  '"^P^"^."^^  *'^'  travelirStd  to  s 

mna,  where  they  agam  resided  several  d-vs  partakino-  of  thJ 

hospitality  of  the  principal  inhabitants.  '-P'''" -^'??-°f  *^' 

ber  they  bade  it  adieu  and  returned  to  S 

Arta;  where,  m  consequence  of  h-^rin. 

ot  Car  ■  .  ^vere  up  in  arms,  that  nun  > 

descen       Irom  the  mountains  of  7i      ft 

^Sf  ^''"  Wearance  on  the  other  h  :    of  thi  gulf 'thevTc 

solved  to  proceed  by  water  to  Prevesa  •  .    ^  vingCsented  ^ 

order  wluch  th«yhad  received  from  Aii  i    .    S  the  u^S 

his  galhot.  .ho  was  immediately  fitted  ou       .  Z^y  Uiem     In 


he  3d  of  Novem.[ 

,  on  the  Gulf  of  I 

<at  the  inhabitanbl 

ands  of  robbers  hadl 

.1  A<»r..,i I  i..jr 

-■  xi^iajjiia,  JMiU  iittUj 


LORD  BYKON. 


73 


Vlbania.— Byron's 


the  course  of  the  voyage  they  suffered  a  great  deal  of  alarm 
|an  some  risk  and  were  obliged  to  land  on  the  mainland  of 

fcof"saIl7  "fn^  Fanari.  contiguous  to  the  mountainou. 
Jistrict  of  buUi.     Ihere  they  procured  horses,  ap.d  rode  to 

Uth  rn  ?  "-H^T  ^^'^^S^'^S.^  the  vizier,  b^  the  primate  of 
kvhich  and  his  Highness's  garrison  they  were  received  with  aU 

tlT  .u^^^^^^^'  ■  "^^'?S^  P^"*'^^  the  "ight  there,  they  de. 
C^'Ik  .^T"'?-^'  "^^'"^  P''*^^'"^  bright  and  beautifbl, 
kSulIi  '"^''■"'^^'"ff  "e«^«  °^the  steep  romantic  enriron; 

Land  of  Albania,  where  Iskander  rose, 
ihenio  of  the  young,  and  beacon  of  the  wise.  * 

And  he  his  namesake  whose  oft-baffled  foes 
Hhrunk  from  hia  deeds  of  chivalrous  empriw  • 
Land  of  Albania  !  let  me  bend  my  eyeo 
On  thee,  thou  rui^ged  nurse  of  savage  men  I 
i  he  cross  deiscends,  thy  minarets  arise, 
And  the  pale  crescent  sparkles  in  the  elen. 
ihrough  many  a  cypress  grove  within  each  city'a  ken. 

Of  the  inhabitants  of  Albania— the  Arnaouts  or  Aibanwe— 
I  *"r  ^y^°"  ^^y^'  they  reminded  him  strongly  of  the  Hieh- 
landers  of  Scotland,  whom  they  undoubtedly  resemble  in  di?i 
rE'  and  manner  of  living.  «  The  very  mountains  seemed 
Caledonian,  with  a  kinder  climate.     The  kilt  though  white,  th« 

fc  Tk?  ^^r'  '^'  ^^^^«^t  ^'^'^'  i"  ^ts  sound?  ^dti.d; 
&  f  i   '  f^  ^"i'^d  me  back  to  Morven.    No  nation  are 
>o  detested  and  dreaded  by  their  neighbours  as  the  Albanese :     ^ 
[he  Greeks  hardly  regard  them  as  Christians,  or  the  Turks  atf    ■   - 

Uf tf''  ^^u  • "  ut  ^^^y  ^'°  ^  ""^t"'^  °^  both,  and  someUme*^;, . 
G  K     1  Z,  T  ^*h>ts  are  predatory :  all  are  armed,  and  the    ** 
Ndshawled  Arnaouts,  the   Montenegrins,  Chimeriotes,  and 
Medges,  are  treacherous  ;  the  others  differ  somewhat  in  irarb. 

I^LV     T^^  favourably.    I  was  attended  by  two,  an  Infi. 
pel  and  a  Mussulman  to  Constantinople  and  every  other  parW 
pi  urkey  which  came  within  my  observations,  and  more  faith.  » 
frL  T^  jf""   indefatigable  in  service  are  no  where  to  be  found. 
line  Infidel  was  named  Basilius,  the  Moslem,  Dervish  Tahiri: 
m  former  a  man  of  middle  age,  and  the  latter  about  my  own. 
pasili  was  strictly  charged  by  Ali  Pashaw  in  person  to  attend 
us,  ajid  Dervish  was  one  of  fifty  who  accompanied  us  through 
pne  Jorests  of  Acarnania.  to  the  banks  "*"♦>"»  a«i,«u.;-  -»^  A 
jwa  to  Missolonghi.     there  I  took  him  into  my  'o^'  wrviw. 
partur?^'        occasion  to  repent  it  till  the  moment  of  my  df. 

t'nir^f "; '"  ^®^^.'  ^^^"^  "'y  ^"«"'^'  M'-  Hobhouse,  left  ne  fbr 
-ngianrt,  1  was  seized  ^ith  a  severe  fever  in  the  Morea.  theie 


74 


THE  LIFE  OP 


altribmcd  m^  recovery.     I  tdloftrZ  !'  P"»""lS'™».i 

poor  Arnll'rrLeTmfS^^^^  ^^l '"  ^!  -7^^*^'  ^^^  "^ 
done  honour  to  civilization  «"ention  wJuch  would  hJ 

bling  with  the  Sands  of  Afhr'"'  •'"'"'  ^"'^  ^^^'^^^  ^"aj 
prindpal  Turks  paid  ".e  fvi^fof  rV  '"'T"'^'  '^'^'  ^^""'^^A 
on  thesubjectof  his  hadnJ.!  °"'^'^"'=^  ^^  tlie  convenj 

he  had  lawfully  bo^^^^^^^  ^^/^^  ^o  the  bath-who. 

etiquette.  ^      ^    '  '^o^^ever-a  tJung  quite  contrary  t 

^:^  htd  tr  ^risitatio  7Th  ^^\°-  p--^4 

with  the  hiffh^st  confPmnf!;r  I      .*'°"  ^"^  *^«  ^^^^rch,  mixel 

occasion.  in'rlThSdttltT"'^^^^^^  ^^  ^"^^^'  4 
church  without  crossinp-  himself -^n^'  t  ^«  "ever  passed/ 
ran  on  entering  St.  Sop^hia  Tsf'n^i  Vr^'"^''  *'^^  "^'^  N 
been  a  place  of  his  worshfo  "V?*^^^"^  because  it  had  one 
hi8  inconsistent  prreedin;s  he  ^^^^^^^^^^^^ff  with  him  o.| 
church  is  holy,  our  priests  ?;p;l-''T">'  answered,  «OuJ 

himself  as  us^ud,idTox:dTh:trofhrfiV^ ""'  rn 

fiwed  to  ass  St  in  anv  reanirpH  L      *•  ""**  P^P^^  who  re] 

to  be  necessary  Xe^^l^.^^i'"'"'^''"^''  always  foun J 
Cogia  Bashi  of  his  village  ^Indeed  .  '"''  '"^^"^^  ''''^'  4 
miscreants  cannot  exist  than  thAL  """^  abandoned  race  ofl 
clergy.  ^'  ^^^"^  *"®  lower  orders  of  the  Greeil 

"  When  preparations  were  rnadp  fnr  «,„     *  I 

ans  were  summoned  to  receL  tlS/  ^  «^^"'""'  '"y  ^^bani. 
an  awkward  show  of  regret  at 'm-^n^t'  ,^5«^»  ^ook  his  with 
marched  away  to  his  quarters  w  t)?{;  ^  "^'.^  departure,  and 
for  Dervish,  but  for  some  ti 2  To  ''^^  of  piastres.     I  sent 

he  entered,' just  as  S.^L^W^^^^^^  not  to  be  found ;  at  J 
Anglo-consul  of  Athens  and  InTfu'^?"'"  ^'^  ^^'^  ci-devantl 
ances  paid  me  a  vLt   'Cvfsh  IttT  "^""^  "^'"'^  ^^^^^^^H 
den  dashed  it  on  the  ground    and^      -^  T"''^'  ^^^  ''^  ^  «"''• 
raised  to  his  foreheXusheH -^  ^J'^.^P'^ff  ^'^  hands,  which  he 

From  that  moment  to  the  ho,t  5^ 

his  lamentaUons,  and  all  J°^el^J^^!^k^"-he?ontinu/d| 

«uu>a  tuis  answer,  'He  leavpa  "^r/^c^"""^"^^,  *"^"^*  only  pro- j 


LORD  BYRON. 


75 


Ihave  left  her  fish-kettle  to  sympathize  with  the  unaffected  and 

lunexpected  sorrow  of  this  barbarian.  ""aneciea  and 

I     "For  my  part,  when  I  remembered  that  a  short  time  befor« 

my  departure  W  England,  a  noble  and  most  inUma^^^^^^ 

had  excused  h.mself  from  taking  leave  of  me,  because  he  had 

to  attend  a  relation  'to  a  miUiner's,'  I  felt  Ao  leL  surprised 

llecUon"""^  ^^  '^'  P'^^"'  "^'^""^"^^  ^"d  the  past  S- 

Inf 'ih^l^!.'"^"'!^  '"^  S.^"'""^^  (^  ^'°  "°t  mean  the  cultivators 
of  the  earth  m  the  provmces,  who  have  also  that  appelkt  on 

C.  L"'"^?*.' '"'""^^  ^r  ^  fi"^  «^«t  of  countenanLTandTe 
most  beautiful  women  I  have  ever  beheld,  in  statur^  and  in 
features,  we  saw  evellin.  the  road  broken  down  by  th^  torrents 
between  Delymalu  and  libokavo.  Their  manner  of  wdWnJ 
IS  truly  theatrical;  but  this  strut  is  probably  the  effecTof  tSf 
eapote  or  cloak  depending  from  one  shoulder/  Their  lon^  hair 
reminds  you  of  the  Spartans,  and  their  courage  in  Story 

hZTr  V'f,  ^^'^^^^'  '  "ever  saw  a  good  Arnaout  horseman; 
but  on  foot  they  are  never  to  be  subdued."  * 

till  fi!i'"''''"^''  ^^r"^  ^^^  Volondorako  proceeded  southward 
hU  they  came  near  to  the  sea-side,  and  passing  alon.r  the  shore 
under  a  castle  belonging  to  Ali  Pashaw,  on  the  lofty  summS 

P^eK^^e^tSi  ''-'  '"-'-'  ^^-P°'^^  againfrS 

overrun  with  robbers,  th.y  provided  theSse Ives  whH  gu^^^^^^^^ 

dowL^rhTGTf  oStl"?  TT'  '^r^^^  ^alliotto XSem 

UTn^etefrtnd'j^u^^^^^ '''  ''^'^  ^^^"^  *^«^  --  ^  -™- 

Having  embarked,  they  continued  sailing  with  verv  littU 

wmd  until  they  reached  the  fortress  of  VoniSa  where  thev 

waited  all  night  for  the  freshening  of  the  mornirg  breeze  l^tJ 

|nt:SdTStra^ket'  ''''  ^'^'^^  '^^  o'elock^i^^rX^S 

Ueer  .d     '    /  ^  '^'ffh  wall.    I„  the  evening  the  gates  wew 

ruard'\':LP"^nn  "".''  ^"  ^^'"^  theif  Albal^f^ 
guaiu»,  a  ffoat  '•:.<     kilipd  a"'^   v^no*^^  ,..u-i_   _  .  ■   /» 

were  kinrlloH  ;         ,         j     ^-...-vu   r.uuic,  una  rour  htvn 

iihrnl  1       •  •  '  yard,  around  which  the  soldiers  seated 

n^TfT  '"  P''-^^"'-     A^^^'-  mating  and  drinking  the  Greater 
par  of  them  assembled  at  the  largest  of  the  fire^s  and  Sj 

the  travellers  were  themselves,  with  W  elders  of  the  pSy;  seatS 


I.J '    :  ,  .  li 


76 


THE  LIFE  or 


Oik  liif  j.ov  wd,  dunced  round  the  blaze  to  their  own  aom»,  with 
-JAomthing  Highland  energy.  *  ' 

Childe  Harnid  at  a  little  distance  stood 
And  vievv'd,  but  not  displeased,  the  revelric, 
Nor  hated  harmless  mirth,  however  rude ; 
In  sooth,  it  wf"  -'■     nlgar  sight  to  see 
Their  Ik.       -.  ;,  ^   ^    -leir  n^t,  ind. -ent  glee; 
And,  ad  the  flames  along  their  facns  gleam'd 
Their  gestures  nimble,  dark  eves  flashing  free 
wv  .    ?J°"?  ^'•'^  '"'^'^^  *''**  ^^  '''«ir  girdles  streai'n'd, 
While  thus  in  concert  they  this  lay  half  sang  half  scream'd. 

"  I  talk  not  of  mercy,  J  talk  not  of  fear ; 
He  neither  must  know  who  would  serve  the  Vizier- 
Since  the  days  of  our  prophet,  the  crescent  ne'er  saw 
A  chief  ever  glorious  like  Ali  Pashaw." 


'ona.— Quarrel  M 
iviuKala.— Gouri— Mi»l 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LeaTH  Utraikee  -Dangerous  pass  in  the  woods. 
tween  the  guard  and  primate  of  the  village, 
solonghi.— Parnassus. 

Ha  VINO  spent  ihe  night  at  Utraikee,  Byron  and  his  frienj 
(continued  their  journey  southward.  The  reports  of  the  stat«f 
of  the  country  induced  them,  to  take  ten  additional  soldierjl 
with  them,  a?  their  road  for  the  first  two  hou: )  lay  throuffj 
dangerous  ,.asse«  in  the  forest.  On  approaching  these  places! 
fifteen  or  twenty  of  the  party  walked  briskly  on  before,  audi 
w  -^n  they  had  gonr  through  t!ie  pass  halted  until  the  travr-llerJ 
cii  .^  up.  In  the  woods  two  or  three  green  spot?  were  di'l 
covered  on  the  road-side,  and  on  them  Turkish  tombstones, 
ffenerally  under  a  clump  of  trees,  and  near  a  well  or  fountain. 

V  .a:,  they  had  ' -ased  the  .rest  they  reached  an  openi 
countij-,  whence  they  sent  back  the  ten  men  -  rhoir  they  had! 
brought  from  Utraikee.  They  then  passed  on  t  j  a  village  calldl 
Catoona,  where  they  a.r.ved  by  noon.  It  nus  their  intention 
to  have  proceec  further  that  day,  but  their  progre^s  was  in- 
terrupted  by  ao  lir  '  otween  their  Albanian  guard  and  tliel 
primate  of  thf      dla  As  they  were  looking  about,  while 

horses  were  coh  *  ting  to  carry  their  lujr,.ajre,one  of  the  soldiers 
drew  his  sword  at  the  primate,  the  heau  Greek  magistrate  :- 
fans  were  cocked,  and  in  an  instant,  betbre  .  'her  Lord  Byron  1 
°L  u-'"  P°bhouse  could  stop  the  affray,  the  pnmate,  throwing 
off  his  shoes  and  cloak,  fled  so  precipitately  that  he  rolled  down 
the  hul  and  dislocated  his  shoulder.    It  was  a  long  time  before 


tOHD  BVKON. 


T7 


I  hey  had  some  difficulty  in  procurin?  horses  at  r.t^ 

^:  ilrrsdi  ^^^'^"^^'  ^-^  -^^^^^  ^^  p--'^^^ 

lin.nhLnr''"'''lT^'''  """^  '"  ^""'*'  Where  they  found  the 
ujuabitants  much  better  lodged  than  in  the  Albanian  vHlaires 
The      .se  in  which  they  slept  at  this  place  resembled  tS 

IW.ltshirrr"  f  t"  '"  '^  ""''  "^^^  ^'^  *h«  bottoms  of  the 
behinH  «  .     .  V''''  ^'^^^  ^^'^^t^'  o"e  before  and  the  other 

a  S'ani  f,     t'''1/°  ^  r^  *'^^  whole  were  surrounded  by 

n  high  and  thick  wall,  which  shut  out  the  prospect  but  w«{ 

P  So^tr  """^^^  ^°  '^^^"-^'^  overrun^Xngl^S: 

Icou^r.f^h'''''''-  ^'^^^  P'-oc*^ed<'d  through  the  woods,  and  in  the 

Ithe  AlhW     '  J"""'"'^  P^^^"^  tl.-ee  new-made  gr;ve8.wlh 

"robtr:-'    TnC^"^  "'  %'  l''^  ''^'  ^^^  '^^^  ^^^V  were 
Ivilm    r;i.     ,      "^^  ^°"''^^  of  the  journey  they  had  a  distan 

ro   but^^'^w•!,""^^  '^'  left  btnk  o?X 

IferTvt'of?      •7'^'^  "°^  approach  it,  crossing  the  river  by  a 

Leavin^'lt  n?  "^ ■  ^T'^  ''^'''  ^^^^  P^^^^  ^^e  night.^ 
Irectfon^!;"      f•^''^'"  *^^  morning,  they  took  an  easterly  di. 

h   bTnk?nnhf  """'^  '"  ''^'  r'''  ^  P^^^"  of  cornfields,  near 

caLeZ^     ^!  'u'^''  •"  ^  "'^'  country ;  sometimes  over  stone 

{causeways,  and   between  the   hedges  of  a„rH..,=   „„T:,7!"^ 

Ifruitr'  T'^  ^r''^  "^T  """"^^^^  ''y  thf  «ea.    This  was"uiat 

0  cLic  fr  ^^--^^^iy  «^!l«d  Parachelouis,  which,  according 

-    rLS?7^  was  drained  or  torn  from  the  rive;  Achelous^ 

n^ntial^/     !  f^'^u  °C  Hercules,  and  presented  by  him  for  a 

nuptial  present  to  the  daughter  of  Oeneus.  '  *  ™  "'  a 

I       he  water  at  which  they  had  now  arrive    was  rather  a  salt- 


78 


THE  LIFE  OF 


marah  than  the  sea,  a  shallow  bay  stretching  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Gulf  of  Lepanto  info  the  land  for  s(  veral  miles.  Having 
dism  ged  their  horses,  they  passed  over  in  boats  to  Nntolico,  a 
town  which  stood  in  the  water.  Hero  they  fell  in  with  a  hos- 
pliable  Jew,  who  made  liimself  remembered,  by  saying  that  he 
was  honoured  in  their  having  partaken  of  his  little  misery. 

Natoiico,  where  they  staid  for  the  nigflit,  was  a  well-built  i 
town;  the  houses  of  timber,  chiefly  of  two  stories,  and  about 
six  hundred  in  number.  Having  sent  on  their  baggage  in 
boats,  they  proceeded  themselves  to  the  town  of  Missolonghi, 
so  celebrated  since  as  having  suffered  greatly  during  the  re- 
cent rebellion  of  the  Greeks,  but  more  particularly  as  the  place  \ 
where  Lord  Byron  died. 

Missolonghi  is  situated  on  the  south  side  of  the  salt-marsh 
or  shallow,  along  the  north  coast  of  tlie  Gulf  of  Corinth,  nearly 
opposite  to  Patras.  It  is  a  dull,  and  I  should  think  an  un- 
wholesome  place.  The  marsh,  for  miles  on  each  side,  has  only 
from  a  foot  to  two  feet  of  water  en  it,  but  there  is  a  channel 
for  boats  marked  out  by  perches.  When  I  was  there,  the  wea- 
ther  was  extremely  wet,  and  I  had  no  other  opportunity  of  see. 
ing  the  character  of  the  adjacent  country  than  during  the  in- 
tervals of  tlie  showers.  It  was  green  and  pastoral,  with  a  short 
skirt  of  cultivation  along  the  bottom  of  the  hills. 

Abrupt  and  rapid  as  the  foregoing  sketch  of  the  journey 
through  Albania  has  been,  it  is  evident,  from  the  novelty  of  its 
circumstances,  that  it  could  not  be  performed  without  leaving 
deep  impressions  on  the  susceptible  mind  of  the  poet.  It  is  im- 
possible,  I  think,  not  to  allow  that  far  more  of  the  wildness  and 
romantic  gloom  of  his  imagination  was  derived  from  the  inci- 
dents  of  this  tour,  than  from  all  the  previous  experience  of  his 
life.  The  scenes  he  visited,  the  characters  with  whom  he  be- 
came  familiar,  and  above  all,  the  chartered  feelings,  passions, 
and  principles  of  the  inhabitants,  were  greatly  calculated  to 
supply  his  mind  with  rare  and  valuable  poetical  materials.  It 
Is  only  in  this  respect  that  the  details  of  his  travels  are  in. 
teresting.-— Considered  as  constituting  a  portion  of  tiie  educa- 
tion  of  his  genius,  they  are  highly  curious,  and  serve  to  show 
how  little,  after  all,  of  great  invention  is  requisite  to  make  in- 
teresting  and  magnificent  poetry. 

From  Missolonghi  the  travellers  passed  over  the  Gulf  of 
Corinth  to  Patras,  then  a  rude,  half.rnined.  open  town  with  a 
fortress  on  the  t»p  of  a  hill ;  and  on  the  4th  of  December,  in 
tte  afternoon,  they  proceeded  towards  Corinth,  but  halted  at 
VostizM,  the  ancient  ^gium,  'here  they  obtained  their  first 
view  of  Parnassus,  on  the  oppo  e  side  of  the  gulf,  rising  high 
above  the  other  peaks  of  that  hilly  region,  and  capped  with 


LORD   BYRON. 


79 


•now.    It  probably  was  during  this  first  visit  to  Vctizza  that 
the  address  to  Parnassus  was  suggested. 

Oh,  thoii  Parnassus!  whom  I  now  survey 
Not  in  the  frenzy  of  a  dreamer's  eye 
Not  in  tho  fabled  landscajx)  of  a  lay  ' 
But  soaring  snow-clad  through  thy  native  sky 
In  the  wild  fK)mp  of  mountain  majesty  I 
What  marvel  if  I  thus  esnav  to  sins? 
The  hiunl.lnsiof  thy  pilgrim's  passing  by 
Would  sladly  woo  thine  eri.ocs  with  his  string.  ♦ 

Though  from  thy  heights  no  more  one  muse  will  vvave  her  wing. 

Oft  have  I  dream'd  of  thee !  whose  glorious  name 
Who  knows  not,  knows  not  man's  divinest  lore' 
And  now  I  view  thee,  'tis,  alas !  with  shame 
That  I  in  feeblest  accents  must  adore 
When  I  recount  thy  worshippers  of  yore 
I  tremble,  and  can  only  bond  the  knee; 
Nor  raise  my  voice,  nor  vainly  dare  to  soar 
But  gaze  beneath  thy  cloudy  canopy 
In  silent  Joy,  to  think  at  last  I  look  on  thee. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Vostiraa.-Battle  of  Lepanto.-Parnassus.-Livadia.-Cave  of  Trooho- 
niu8.-The  fountains  of  Oblivion  and  Memory .-C'hffiron6a-Thebe"- 
Atncns. 

VosTizzA  was  then  a  considerable  town,  containing  betwin 
three  and  four,  thousand  inhabitants,  chiefly  Greeks.  It  stands 
on  a  rising  ground  on  the  Peloponnesian  side  of  the  Gulf  of 
UrintL  I  say  stands,  but  I  know  not  if  it  has  survived  the 
war.  Tho  scenery  around  it  will  always  make  it  deli'rhtful 
while  the  associations  connected  with  the  Achaian  league,  and 
the  important  events  which  have  happened  in  the  vicinity,  will 
ever  render  the  site  interesting.  The  battle  of  Lepanto,  in 
which  Cervantes  lost  his  hand,  was  fought  within  sight  of  it. 

What  a  strange  thing  is  glory !  Three  hundred  years  ago 
iUl  Christendom  rang  with  the  hettle  of  Lepanto,  and  yet  it  is 
already  probable  that  it  will  only  be  -nteresting  to  posterity  as 
an  incident  m  the  hfe  of  one  of  the  private  soldiers  engaged  in 
It  This  IS  certainly  no  very  mournful  reflection  to  one  who  is 
;."f"~V";  •■■"*^  "'--f^- la  Hu  pciiiiauKiii  imnc,  put  mat  wiuuii  18 
obtained  by  adding  to  the  comforts  and  pleasures  of  mankind. 
Military  transactions,  after  their  immediate  effects  cease  to  be 
vili,  are  httle  productive  of  such  a  result.  Not  that  I  value 
military  virtues  the  less  by  being  of  this  opinion ;  on  the  con- 
"■ary,  I  am  the  more  convinced  of  their  excellence.    Burke 


Ji'l 


80 


THE  LIFE  OP 


has  unguardedly  said,  that  vice  loses  half  its  maliffnitv  bv 
losing  Its  grossness ;  but  public  virtue  ceases  to  be  useful  when 
It  sickens  at  the  calamities  of  necessary  war.  Tiie  moment 
that  nations  become  confident  of  security,  they  give  way  to 
corruption.  The  evils  and  dangers  of  war  seem  as  requisite 
tor  the  preservation  of  public  morals  as  the  laws  themselves ;  at 
least  it  is  the  melancholy  moral  of  history,  that  when  nations 
resolve  to  be  peaceful  with  respect  to  their  neighbours,  thev 
begin  to  be  vicious  with  respect  to  themselves.  But  to  return 
to  the  travellers. 

On  the  14th  of  December  they  hired  a  boat  with  fourteen 
men  and  ten  oars  and  sailed  to  Salona  ;  thence  they  proceeded 
to  Crisso  and  rode  on  to  Delphi,  ascending  the  mountain  on 
horseback,  by  a  steep  craggy  path  towards  the  north-east.  Af- 
ter scaling  the  side  of  Parnassus  for  about  an  hour,  they  saw 
vast  masses  of  rock,  and  fragments  of  stone,  piled  in  a  perilous 
manner  above  them,  with  nichos  and  sepulchres,  and  relics 
anf'  remains,  on  all  sides.  ' 

They  visited  and  drank  of  Castalia,  and  the  prophetic  font, 
Cassotis;  but  still,  like  every  other  traveller,  they  were  disap! 
pomtcd.  Parnassus  is  an  emblem  of  the  fortune  that  attends 
the  votaries  of  the  muses,  harsh,  rugged,  and  barren.  The 
woods  that  once  waved  on  Delphi's  steep,  have  all  passed 
away,  and  may  now  be  sought  in  vain. 

A  few  traces  of  terraces  may  yet  be  discovered— here  and 
there  t!:c  chump  of  a  column,  and  niches  for  receivinff  votive 
offerings  are  numerous  among  the  cliffs,  but  it  h  a  lone  and 
dismal  place;  Desolation  sits  with  Silence,  and  Ruin  there  is 
so  decayed  as  to  be  almost  Oblivion. 

Parnassus  is  not  so  much  a  single  mountain  as  the  loftiest 
of  a  range;  the  cloven  summit  appeirs  most  conspicuous  when 
seen  trom  the  south.  The  northern  view  is,  howev.  ,  more 
remarkable;  tor  the  cleft  is  less  distinguishable,  and  seven 
lower  peaks  suggest,  m  contemplation  with  the  summits,  the 

ftrfT  ''^fi'"  ""^"T  'T-f.  °^  ^^.^  "'"'"•'•  ^^'^'^  P«^»^«.  "i"e  in  all, 
are  the  first  of  the  hills  which  receive  the  rising  sun,  and  the 
last  that  in  evening  part  with  his  light, 

,  From  Delphi  the  travellers  proceeded  towards  Livadia,  pass- 
ing!."    t  ''''"';^  °^  *'*^  Pnvney,  the  confluence  of  the  three 

h?5fn„,  «  •'  V'^:'l  ."'"^  i"^  ^"*h"'  ^»  «^«"t'  with  its 
nideous  tram  of  tatnlifif.i  urh;r,u  — u *  u-  _  .  n    .    ,  . 

Byron  on  the  spo*,  even  after  the  tales  of  guilt  he  had  gathered 
m  his  Albanian  journeys,  without  agitating  associations. 

At  Livadia  t.iey  remained  the  greater  part  of  three  days, 
durmg  which  they  examined  with  more  than  ordinary  minute- 
ness, the  cave  of  Trophonius,  wid  the  streams  of  the  Hercyna, 


LORD  BYRON. 


81 


3  malignity  by 
be  useful  when 

TJie  moment 
y  give  way  to 
em  as  requisite 
'•  themselves ;  at 
t  when  nations 
2ighbours,  they 

But  to  return 

witii  fourteen 
they  proceeded 
e  mountain  on 
lorth-east.  Af- 
hour,  they  saw 
id  in  a  perilous 
es,  and  relics, 

prophetic  font, 
jy  were  disap- 
le  that  attends 
barren.  The 
ive  all  passed 

'ed — here  and 

ceiving  votive 

is  a  lone  and 

Ruin  there  is 

as  the  loftiest 
picuous  when 
iowev(  ,  more 
e,  and  seven 
summits,  the 
is,  nine  in  all, 
:  sun,  and  the 

Livadia,  pass- 
!  of  the  three 
int,  with  its 
'ccollccted  by 
had  gathered 
iations. 
f  three  days, 
nary  minute- 
the  Hercjnft, 


j  composed  of  tho  mingled  waters  of  the  two  fountains  of  Obli- 
vion and  Memory. 

From  Livadia,  afler  visiting  the  battle-fields  of  Chffiron^a 
(the  birth-place  of  Plutarch,)  and  also  many  of  the  almost  in- 
numerable storied  and  consecrated  spots  in  the  neighbourhood, 
the  travellers  proceeded  to  Thebes— a  poor  town,  containing 
about  five  hundred  wooden  houses,  with  two  shabby  mosques 
and  four  humble  churches.  The  only  thing  worthy  of  notice  in 
it  is  a  public  clock,  to  which  the  inhabitants  direct  the  atten- 
lion  of  strangers  as  proudly  as  if  it  were  indeed  one  of  the  won- 
ders  of  the  world.  There  they  still  alTect  to  show  the  fountain 
of  Dirce  and  the  ruins  of  the  house  of  Pindar.  But  it  is  unne- 
cessary to  describe  the  numberless  relics  of  the  famous  things 
which  every  hour,  as  they  approached  towards  Athens,  lay 
more  and  more  in  their  way.  Not  that  many  remarkable  ob- 
jects  met  their  view ;  yet  fragments  of  antiquity  were  often 
seen,  though  many  of  them  were  probably  brought  far  from  tha 
edifices  to  which  they  had  originally  belonged :  not  for  their 
beauty,  or  on  account  of  the  veneration  which  the  sight  of  them 
inspired,  but  because  they  would  burn  into  better  lime  than  the 
coarser  rock  of  the  hills.  Nevertheless,  abased  and  returned 
into  rndeness  as  all  things  were,  the  presence  of  Greece  was 
felt,  and  Byron  could  not  resist  the  inspirations  of  her  genius. 

Fa-r  Greece !  sad  rnlic  of  departed  worth  ! 
Immortal !  though  no  more;  thoui^h  fallen,  great; 
Who  now  shalllead  thy  sen tterd  children  forth, 
And  long-accustoin'd  bondage  uncreate? 
Not  sucli  thy  sons  who  whilomo  did  await, 
The  hopeless  warriors  of  a  willing  doom, 
In  bleak  Th^rmopylos  sepulchral  strait : 
Oh !  who  that  gallant  spirit  shall  resume, 
Leap  from  Eurotas'  bankB,  and  call  thee  from  the  tomb! 

In  the  course  of  the  aflcrnoon  of  the  day  after  they  had  left 
Thebes,  in  attaining  the  summit  of  a  mountain  over  which 
their  road  lay,  the  travellers  beheld  Athens  at  a  distance, 
rising  loflily,  crowied  with  the  Acropolis  in  the  midst  of  the 
plain,  the  sea  beyond,  and  the  misty  hills  of  Egina  blue  in  the 
distance. 

On  a  rugged  rock  rising  abruptly  on  tho  right,  near  to  the 
spot  where  this  interesting  vista  first  opened,  they  beheld  the 
remains  of  tho  ancient  walls  of  Phyle,  a  fortress  which  com- 


pile u;  t:it: 


a n 


iiica,  aiiQ  tamous 
as  the  retreat  of  the  chief  patriots  concerned  in  destroying  the 
thirty  tyrants  of  Athens. 

Spirit  of  freedom  !  when  on  Phyle'a  brow 
Thou  pat'st  with  Thrasybulus  and  his  train, 
CnuldNt  thou  forbode  llie  dinmal  hour  v  iiich  now 


^i  • 


^2  THE  LIFE  OP 

Dims  the  green  beauties  of  thine  Attic  olain  ' 
Not  thirty  tyrants  now  enforce  the  chain 
;         But  every  carle  can  lord  it  o'er  thy  land  •  ' 
Nor  rise  thy  sons,  but  idly  rail  in  vain. ' 
rrembling  beneath  the  scourge  of  Turkish  han<1 
From  birth  till  death  enslaved  ;  .f  word,  in  Ted  uSmann'd. 

Such  was  the  condition  in  which  the  poet  found  the  country 
as  he  approached  Athens  ;  and  although  the  spirit  he  invoked 
has  reanimated  the  dejected  race  he  then  beheld  around  him 
he  traveller  who  even  now  revisits  the  country,  will  s"ll  iS 
n  vain  for  that  lofty  mien  which  characterizes  the  children  of 
iberty.    The  fetters  of  the  Greeks  have  been  .truck  off.  bu 
the  blams  and  excoriated  marks  of  slavery  are  still  consnicu 
pus  upon  t^em;  the  sinister  eye,  the  fawning  voice  tresffi- 
2'eff":!""^'  '"'  '^™^^"°"^'  ^'-"^  -^  -W  confltts  only 

fhp^rLln*  ^'7  °^^^^'''>  ^^«  ^^«*^"ff  ^'^d  unsatisfactory:  a. 
the  travellers  descended  from  the  mountains,  the  winding  o? 
the  road  among  the  hills  shut  it  out.  Having  passed  tCniafe 
of  Casha,  they  at  last  entered  upon  the  slope,  and  thence  into 
he  plain  of  Attica  •  but  the  intervenmg  heights  and  trees  C 
the  town  concealed,  till  a  turn  of  the  path  brought  it  full  aS 
betore  them;  the  Acropolis,  covered  vvith  the  rdns  of  theTar 
then_on-the  Museum  hill-and  the  Monument  of  PhiLpap; 

Ancient  of  days— august  Athena!  where 

Where  are  thy  men  of  might  ?  thy  prand  in  soul  ' 

iUe  warrioi-s  weapon,  and  the  sophist's  stole 
Are  sought  in  vain,  and  o'er  each  moulderinff  tow*.. 
Dim  with  the  mist  of  years,  gray  flits  tKhade  "of  S 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

,  Jl  „V',,^l"j;!!"'?._':^1'?'-'""'.'  «'«  "«•■  H.ore  „„  othor  vc>. 
a+kI„T  ri"  ■'•■■-'-"•;  Y'^''"fi  in  GXisteiice  liinn  tliose  to  be  seen  at 
Athens,  they  are  st.ll  sufficient  of  themselves  to  iustifv  thead 
miration  entertained  for  the  genius  of  Greece.  EL  Iw-' 
«ver,  so  much  on  account  of  their  niagnifioence  as  of  thJr 
exquisite  beauty,  that  the  fragments  obtain  such    dola trou 


LOBD  BYRON.  Q^ 

homaj^e  from  the  pilgrims  to  theBhattored  shrines  of  antiquity. 
But  Lord  Byion  had  no  feeling  for  art;  perhaps  it  would  be 
more  correct  to  say,  he  atfected  none :  still,  Athens  was  to  him 
a  text,  a  theme  ;  and  when  the  first  rush  of  curiosity  has  been 
satisfied,  where  else  can  the  palled  fancy  fine'  such  a  topic. 

To  the  mere  antiquary,  this  celebrated  city  cannot  but  long 
contmue  interesting ;  and  to  the  classic  enthusiast,  just  liberat- 
ed from  the  cloisters  of  his  college,  the  scenery  and  the  ruins 
may  for  a  season  inspire  delight.  Philosophy  may  there  point 
her  moral  apopthegms  with  stronger  emphasis,  virtue  receive 
"^^y  incitements  to  perseverance,  by  reflecting  on  the  honour 
which  still  attends  the  memory  of  the  ancient  great,  and  pa- 
triotism  there  more  pathetically  deplore  the  inevitable  effects 
of  individual  corruption  on  public  glory  ;  but  to  the  man  who 
seeks  a  solace  from  misfortune,  or  is  "  aweary  of  the  sun ;" 
how  wretched,  how  solitary,  how  empty  is  Athens ! 

Yet  to  the  remnants  of  thy  splendour  past 
Shall  pilgrims,  punsive,  but  unvvenried,  throng; 
Long  shall  the  voyager,  with  th'  Ionian  blast, 
Hail  the  bright  clime  of  battle  and  of  song; 
Long  shall  thy  annals  and  immortal  tongue 
Fill  with  thy  fame  the  youth  of  many  a  sliore ; 
Boast  of  the  aged !  lesson  of  the  young! 
Which  sages  venerate  and  bards  adore, 
As  Pallas  and  the  Muse  unveil  their  awful  lore ! 

Of  the  existing  race  of  Athenians  Byron  has  observed,  that 
they  are  remarkable  for  their  cunning :  "  Among  the  various 
foreigners  resident  in  AtJicns  there  was  never  a  difference  of 
opinion  in  their  estimate  of  the  Greek  character,  though  on  all 
other  topics  they  disputed  with  great  acrimony.  M.  Fauvel, 
the  French  consul,  who  has  passed  thirty  years  at  Athens,  fre- 
quently  declared  in  my  hearing,  that  the  Greeks  do  not.  deserve 
to  be  emancipated— reasoning  on  the  ground  of  their  national 
and  individual  depravity— while  he  forgot  that  such  depravity 
IS  to  be  attributed  to  causes  which  can  only  be  removed  by  the 
measures  he  reprobates. 

"  ^^-  Roque,  a  French  merchant  of  respectability,  long  set. 
tied  in  Athens,  asserted  with  the  most  amusing  gravity,  '  Sir, 
they  are  the  same  canaille  that  existed  in  the  days  of  Themis- 
tocles.'  The  ancients  banished  Thernistocles ;  the  moderns 
cheat  Monsieur  Roque :  thus  great  men  have  ever  been  treated  I 
^  "In  sfiort,  all  the  Franks  who  are  fixtures,  and  most  of  the 
yngnshnieu,  iierumns,  Danes,  &c.,  of  passage,  come  over  by 
degrees  to  their  opinion,  on  much  the  same  grounds  that  a 
Turk  in  England  would  condemn  the  nation  by  wholesale,  be- 
cause he  was  wronged  by  his  lackey  and  overcharged  by  his 
waslierwoman.    Certainly  it  was  not  a  littlo  staggering  when 


84 


THE  LIFE  OF 


DerJSnVff^  °"'  »",'l.P"z^le  tte  poor  Waywode  will, 

perpetuol  differences,  agreed  in  the  ufter  condemnalion  of  Vhl 
Oreek,  .n  general  and  of  the  Athenian,  in  partreS L  ™  °'  ""' 

hiJ  arr  val"™  Atlt'::  'T't '•!;  '5"'  i'"''™'"'^-  '»'""■».  ""»' 
i  i»  drr  vai  at  Athens  he  laid  down  h  s  opn      Thilrla  H„.  u 

U.ere  d«ppears.    Whether  he  had  wri't.'^L  pUgrl ^"ge  u 

q^:t  Xt-^Sv-riifp^^^^^^^^  - — •» 

hlirh.7.^'"?^  ^^^*'^  '''^^  *""«  ^t  ^tJi«ns,  where  they  esta 
bhshed  their  head-quarters,  the  travellers,  when  thev  had  i^" 
«pected   he  principal  antiquities  of  the  cit;  E  S  which 
aJl   rave^lers  must  visit,)  made  several  exc^u    Jons  no  the  en  vt 
rons  and  amon^  other  places  went  to  Eleusis. 

and  se  tt  of  thft  rr^i  *^'^» '""""^^  '^'^'^''  *han  usual, 
„n  J  fu    ^\  .   ^^^^  ^^^"^'^  has  the  site  of  the  Academv 

J«^yfrJhtCt^S%t^^^^^^^^^^ 

'    tain  1  tH  A;,    ""''  *''^^  '='''"^'  ^*  ^he  bottom  of  a  piny  mom! 
Son  *°;t.  H^'"°"^«teryof  Dapnne,  the  appearances  and  sUu 
ation  of  which  are  in  agreeable  unison.     The  monasterv  wT^ 

utsque^'s:  m'ucf    T  'Yu  ''^'^  ^'  ^^^  ^ir^^Z^ll  ^it 
ron3c  vein      Th     "'"'''^  ''^^^""^  ^^"^^^^^  ^"^  artists  of  a 

n.t^'Vt"r-^  ^'^'■""^'^  the  hollow  valley  b  which  this  mo 

elbt^fSrunH^^^^^^^^^^  «.^^P"^  rut\otndTn 

diatdv  in  W  Tf-  ;  ""^  the  Eleusmian  plain  opens  immo- 
dons  OnT  /V':  ''T^^'^''  ^*»'*  ^  PJ*'"'  hilt  of  small  dimrn- 
whe  e  t}?e  bani  J'^  1'  "'f  ^t"^  of  Salamis,  and  theS 
tCfes  for  wS  r  ''"^''Z'  ^"t  "^'^^^^  «^  it  "o*-  of  the  my" 
ce  ebratd  I  '  .K  '  ^'""^ '^  °^  ^^^^^  ^««  ^^^  «^  many  a Jes 
j!^:Ti'JTJ^:.^'  ^^^y^?.'^^  5]««c"ption  or  .u^iritL^n-; 
were  so  likeh^'ir^l^P^  "^"1."^"  '^''"  ''"''  'Vcnderfui  subjects, 
enouVh"  toti  fencT  ""^'^''^  ""^^^  "'^'"P^^  '^"^^  '^»^'  -'«« 
The  ne^ct  excursion  in  any  dojrree  intereating,  if,  ^„alifica. 


LORD  BYRON. 


85 


tion  of  that  kind  can  be  applied  to  excursions  in  Attica,  waa 
to  Cape  Colonna.  Crossinj?  the  bed  of  the  Ilissus  and  keepin'r 
nearer  to  Mount  K/mettus,  the  travellers  arrived  at  Vary  a 
farm  belonging  to  the  monastery  of  Agios  Asomatos,  and  under 
tiie  charge  of  a  caloycr.  Here  they  stopped  for  the  night,  and 
being  furnished  with  lights,  and  attended  by  the  caloyer's 
servant  as  a  guide,  they  proceeded  to  inspect  the  Paneum,  or 
sculptured  cavern  in  that  neighbourhood,  into  which  they 
descended.  Having  satisfied  their  curiosity  there,  they  pro- 
ceeded,  m  the  morning,  to  Kerat^a,  a  small  town  containing 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  houses,  chiefly  inhabited  by  Tur^ 
Albanians.  "^ 

The  wetness  of  the  weather  obliged  them  to  remain  several 
days  at  Keratea,  during  which  thqy  took  the  opportunity  of  a 
few  hours  of  sunshine,  to  ascend  the  mountain  of  Parn^  in 
quest  of  a  cave  of  which  many  wonderful  things  were  reported 
m  the  country.  Having  found  the  entrance,  kindled  their  pine 
torches,  and  taken  a  supply  of  strips  of  the  same  wood,  they 
let  themselves  down  through  a  narrow  aperture ;  creeping  still 
farther  down,  they  came  into  what  seemed  a  large  subterranean 
hall,  arched  as  it  were  with  high  cupolas  of  crystal,  and  divided 
into  long  aisles  by  columns  of  glittering  spar,  in  some  parts 
spread  into  wide  horizontal  chambers,  in  others  terminated  by 
the  dark  mouths  of  deep  and  steep  abysses  receding  into  the 
interior  of  the  mountain. 

The  travellers  wandered  from  one  grotto  to  another,  until 
they  came  to  a  fountain  of  pure  water,  by  the  side  of  which 
they  lingered  some  time,  till  observing  that  their  torches  wore 
wasting,  they  resolved  to  return;  but  after  exploring  the  laby- 
rinth  for  a  few  minutes,  they  found  tliemselves  again  close  be- 
side  this  mysterious  spring.  It  was  not  without  ;  jason  they 
then  bccam;»  alarmed,  for  the  gmde  confessed,  with  trepidation, 
that  he  had  forgotten  jhe  intricaciea  of  the  cave,  and  knew  not 
now  to  recover  the  outlet. 

Byron  often  described  this  adventure  with  spirit  and  hu- 
tnour.  Magnifying  both  his  own  and  his  friend's  terrors ;  and 
though  of  course  there  was  a  caricature  in  both,  yet  the  dis- 
tinction was  charaoteriatic.  Mr.  Hobhouse,  being  of  a  more 
solid  disposition  naturally,  could  discern  nothing  but  a  grave 
cause  for  dread  in  being  thus  loot  in  the  bowels  of  ihe  earth; 
Byron,  however,  described  his  own  anxiety  as  a  species  of  ex- 

escape  from  starvation  and  being  buried  alive,  was  trily  oro- 
vidential.  ^  ^ 

While  roaming  in  a  state  of  despair,  from  cave  to  cell ;  cliaib- 
ing  up  narrow  apertures ;  their  last  pine.torch  hat  conBuming; 


'"  ^  '^e' 


86 


THE  LIFE  OP 


•^i 


ing  towards  Uiem;    heTLtened  ,o!v  '  ^ -^  of  light  gleam! 
the  mouth  of  the  cave  ^^'^^'^^  '*'  ^"'^  ""^ed  at 

Although  the  poet  has  not  made  anv  n««  ^r  iu-    •      „ 
description,  the  actual  exDPH7m:«     ,  ?^u^®  °^  ^^"  incident  in 

despai?  is,  could  not  but  e^hSsme\t  ^^"  °^  "^^^ 

crease  his  knowledge  of  ffirrlhi^  r  'f.^^^P'^ys^cal  store,  and  in. 

the  darkest  and  drea^dest  aS^^^^         '  '^,  ^^«  Z''^'''^'  °^ 
cannibalism  -and  the  rag^^SrvTi^Cge'^ '^""^- 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Proceed  from  Kerat6a  to  Cane  Colon  nn      a 
tlie  spot—Second  hearing  of  thPAihn^-~^'^°?'"*'°»«  connected  with 
Effect  of  hia  adventured  oWpm.^do^'tr;;;;^''.""'^'^  '°  Maratho^  - 
I  jwn  the  travellers  there-MaW  of  Athi'ns.^  ~^'''"'°  '*"  Athens.- 

distant  view  ofTheruL  oT^LT"^  ^^%T'^  ^"^  ^"^e,  but  the 
the  loneliness  of  thrrromoitrP'',f.^^"^^^'^  «^^"ding  on 
the  trouble,  had  th;\oTCrei;nToig  ^^  "'^^'  ^'^™  '"^ 
atyl^rcTl^i--^^^^^^^^^^^^^  £t¥ie  order,  an  he.a. 

are  celebrated  alike  bv  [he  W  'k"  "^^T^  '^^  ^'^'"^^^^  «tand. 
for  it  was  amidst  them  that  Fn^f  ^^  ?"1  ?"  ^^'^'^i'^"  '«"««« 
wreck  ;  and  the  uneoaalleH  /     T'  '^'^  *^"  ««^'"«  ^^  his  Ship. 
in  the  Giaour,  wasToiiir^^^^^  '^"'"^^^  «f  «reec^ 

was  written  in  Lonj;nit^r,:^;:,\*here  although  the  poem 
sion,  that  the  poet  first  b8cam^..      ^^^^'b"  not  on  this  occa. 

toCapeColonna,  as  wrmV-j  ,t  ""•  ,  °"  '"y  «hW  journev 
ftom  the  hamle  UtwLrKj.t""^}  i"*?  <''«'<'  «>'t  kal 
Dervish  Tahiri  (one  of  lAlif?  ""''  ^*»"'^   '  "b*"-™! 

«^i   _y»^i  \v"»v-  ui     Ills    Ainaninn    on>...„»<._\       •  .._ 

vut  ui  ine  uttiii  and  leaninr*  ui  u  ""■""="«;  naiuo  rather 
P«n.  I  rode  u,;  and  it  ,3   '  w"^  "^*^"  ^'^  ^^^^^  if  i« 


LORD  BYRON. 


87 


80  wiint  be.'  ^"  5'°"  P'-^"^"'  A«^»«  i  if  it  is  written, 

Phel.c,  by  no  means  rolisW  tho  i„l   iiin"!''  ^i  "1       f"i 

anti,„aria,C  and  LkS  Wm  inl  had  C  ''"'"^l  '"*"  =" 

Shi^    i^    ™u  company,'  and  ourselvn.  in  a  bad  n3 
Murhood.    Dervish  became  a  soothsayer  lo,  life   and  I  df™ 

&&K^thr£-i?~lHS 

Byrol\emarL?"Iri:rP*'^'^'"'  ^*?^^^'  ^"^^  Marathon- 
Colonna      Tn  f  K        /•        "°  "'^^"^  ^^''^  interesting  than  Caw 

ineStiblV^trorr  ^^^  "*^^*'  ^^^*^*^"  columns  areT^ 

be  unwelcoVne  •  and  h!  f,-!    i?        -fK^  conversations  will  not 
pect  over  Tsles^Lf  orn^  f  ^^^  ^  "*^""'^  ^^^^^  ^he  pros- 

^-Ifutcen  in  the  recollection  of  Falconer  andTnijten;^"  "** 
"There,  m  tlie  dead  of  night,  by  Lonna's  steeo. 
The  Beamen-8  cry  was  heard  along  the  d^p  "  ^ 

Ke.ra.  ^^zi::::T.^:^ax 


■-*fi 


88 


THE  LIFE  OF 


district  of  country  where  the  silver  mines  are  situated;  which 
according  to  Sir  George  Wheler,  were  worked  with  some  success 

thon,  takmg  Rapthi  m  thoir  way ;  where,  in  the  lesser  port  on 
a  steep  rocky  island,  they  beheld,  from  a  distance,  the  r^tmains 

t,  but  It  has  been  visited  by  other  travellers,  who  have  described 
It  to  be  of  while  marble,  sedent  on  a  pedestal.  The  head  and 
arms  are  brd.en  off;  but  when  entire,  it  is  conjectured  to  have 
been  twelve  feet  in  height.     As  they  were  passing  round  the 

stThe  d'Lrr',  \'  '"^''''-^.  ^'  ''^'^  ^^'  -  slfout  from  a 
shepherd,  and  on  lookmg  round  saw  a  large  dun-coloured  wolf, 
galloping  slowly  througii  the  bushes. 

Such  inciGcnts  and  circumstances,  in  :he  mid^t  of  the  most 
romantic  scenery  of  the  world,  with  wild  and  lawless  c^^ 
pamons  and  a  constant  sense  of  danger,  were  full  of  poetrv' 

tasie  of  Byron  s  genius.  As  it  has  been  said  of  Salvato^Rosa 
the  painter  that  hd  derived  the  characteristic  savage  forfe  of 
hi'.Sr?  ?r  ^"'  r"^''^"'  adventures  with  banditti;  it  may 
be  added  of  Byron,  that  much  of  his  most  distinguished  powe^ 
was  the  result  of  his  adventures  as  a  traveller  in  (Jr„occ  His 
mmd  and  memory  were  filled  with  stores  of  the  Httest  imaffery 
to  supply  becoming  backgrounds  and  appendages,  to  tTi^elm.' 
racters  and  enterprises  which  he  afterwards  depicted  wih  such 
truth  of  nature  and  poetical  effect.  ' 

th^^^'  n^""'"^  ^^P*'"'  ^'^'^P^^^  ^^"^"t  Pentilicus  on  the  left, 
the  travellers  came  in  sight  of  the  evcr-celebr^ted  Plain  of 

1  of  7h;  aTh"  •''"??  "^""^  '^^^^"^^^'  they  pLsed  th    bar. 

low  ot  the  Athenian  slaui  unnotir,-,!,  but  next  morning  thev 

examined  minutely  the  field  of  battle,  and  fancied  theVhad 

made  an  iquarian  discoveries.     In  their  return  to  Athens  thev 

inspected  the  different  objects  of  research  and  fragments  of  an^ 

ChanJi:.;'"?p''''^   attract  travellers,  and  witl/the  help  of 

hS.     ''"'i  ,^^»«a"»as,  endeavoured  to  determine  the    ocal 

habitation  and  the  name  of  many  things,  of  which  the  traditions 

have  perished  and  the  forms  have  relapsed  into  rock  ''^'''"°"' 

Soon  after  their  arrival  at  Athens,  Mr.  Hobhou.e  left  Lord 

Byron,  to  visit  the  Nnaropont,  where  he  was  absent  some  ^w 

days      I  thini:  he  had  only  been  back  three  or  four,  when  I  ar^ 

rived  from  Zant^     My  visit  to  Athens  at  that  perx^i  wa"  ace  - 

dental.     I  had  left  Malta  with  thp  ir^f.-ntlnr  -f  «!^™.jf— '^  i 

l.andia,  by  Specia,  and  Idra;  but  a  droadtui  storm  dr^eu*  Z 

the  Adriatic,  as  far  as  Valona :  and  in  returning,  being  becalm^ 

with  1'  r  '"'  °^^'"*''  '  '^"'^^^  *^«^^'  «-^  aliowed^thl  sbi" 
with  my  luggage,  to  proceed  to  her  destination,  having  hem 


LOUD  "YRON. 


89 


advised  to  go  on  by  the  Gulf  of  Corinth  to  Athens  ;  from  which 
I^ was  mformed,  there  would  be  no  diifieulty  in  recovering  my 

In  carrying:  this  arrangement  into  effect,  I  was  induced  to 
^0  aside  from  the  direct  route,  and  to  visit  Volhi  Pashaw  at 
Tripolizza,  to  whom  T  had  letter..  Returning  by  Ar.os  and 
Corinth,  I  crossed  the  Isthmus,  and  taking  the  road  b7£ara 

journey,  1  heard  of  two  English  travellers  beinff  in  the  citv 
andonreuclung  the  convent  of  the  Propagandc^  where  I  h^d 
been  advised  to  take  up  my  lodgings,  tiie  frlr  in  char  Je  of  the 
house  mtorined  me  of  their  names!  Next  mornini  Mr  Hob 
house  havmg  heard  of  my  arrival,  kindly  called  oTme  and  f 
acccnpanied  him  to  Lord  Byron,  who  then  lodged  with  the 
widow  of  a  Greek,  who  had  been  British  Consul."  She  was  I 
beheve  a  respectable  person,  with  several  dai"  hter  Te  of 
whom  has  been  rendered  more  famous  by  his  LordsS;  verse/ 
than  her  degree  of  beauty  deserved.  She  was  a  palo^nd  Z' 
H  ve-lookin^  girl,  with  regular  Grecian  features.  WhXrh; 
really  cherished  any  sincere  attachment  to  her  I  much  doubt 

11     T  '"II^^««^"V  ^^/  ^^"'^"^  i""°««nt  and  poeUcal,  thS 

e  spoke  of  buying  her  from  her  mother.     It  was  to  this  da3 

tiiul  ho  addressed  the  stanzas  beginning,  ^ 

Maid  of  Athens,  ere  we  part, 
Give,  oh !  give  me  back  my  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIX, 

Athenian  anr!  Albania    sup^rstmons  '=""^^,«,f  o/'"«.^".a?e-Variou8 
the  genius  of  the  poet!       «"Pcrst'"ons.-Eirect  of  their  impression  on 

DiTRiNG  h's  residence  at  Athens,  Lord  Byron  made  almost 
tttST  7,^-?'^-^,  chiefly  for  eLrcise  and  to  see 
for  K  tfan/h^'^  '^  r**-,  "^  ^«'«^*^'^  *°  h^^«  no  taste 

terlf'rthl'f*'"^7^  °^^^"^*  Pentilicus,  from  which  the  ma- 
leriais  tor  the  temples  and  nrinrinal  ^/<:fl»«-  ^e  a*u 

po«^  to  have  been  brought:  ^V^sT  intho;;dryrone''ofZ 
Z^Zi^fV'''T^''V'  '^'''''^^-  This  quirky  is  a  vast 
hKe  fbsln  '  f'  °^1^'  ^"''  "  ^'•^P^^y  of  woodbine  hangs 
which  ipf?"  ""lu  ^"'■*':'"  °^"''  *he  entrant  the  effect  of 
»hich,  seen  from  the  outside,  is  really  wo^th      »king  at,  but 

H  f% 


90 


THE   LIFE    OP 


not  worth  the  trouble  of  ridin^r  three  hours  over  a  road  of  rude 
and  rough  fragments  to  see:  the  interior  is  like  that  of  any 

wh^r!  ^i^^'^  at  a  monastery,  close  by  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
r^t  D?rT "'.?  ^  ff"'de  and  ate  a  repast  of  olives  and  fried 
ISJ  f  ^^'^"^^''''"  ««ys.  that  tlie  monks,  or  caloyors,  of  this 
convent,  are  summoned  to  prayers  by  a  tune  winch  is  p Lyed 
on  a  piece  of  an  iron  hoop;  and,  on  the  outside  of  the  chuTch 
we  certamly  savv  a  piece  of  crooked  iron  suspended!  When 
struck,  u  uttered  a  bell-like  sound,  by  which  tlie  hour  of  praver 
was  announced.  What  sort  of  (une  could  be  pCed  on  such 
fmagTne."'"'    '  '^"  ^'''^'  ^"^  J"^'"°"^^^  ^'^^^  ^^^^Vs  'o 

»,T?^"J,^  reached  the  mouth  of  the  grotto,  by  that  »  verv 
bad  track",  which  the  learned    personLe  above  mentioned 
clambered  up,  we  saw  the  ruins  of  the  building  which  the  dc^ 
tor  at  first  thought  had  been  possibly  a  hermitWU    bu  twcT 

ZLZZT^'T  ''^''''•°"'  ^'  ^''^^'  °f  opinion  "was 
designed,  perhaps,  for  a  sentinel  to  look  out,  and  regulate  bv 

sgnals,  the  approach  of  the  men  and  teams  emS  in  ca^ 
r^. '^  marble  to  the  city."  This,  we  agreed,  was  a^4y" Zi 
??^  ;2Sf ^  ''  ^?; '""t"^^  Highi; probkble  that  slj^el 

^hi  rT?etl  '"^"'f'"'  ^y  ''-"^^^'  ^^«  man^Buvres  of  carts 
I  '«!j;ig  to  tetch  away  stones. 

l^aying  looked  at  the  outside  of  the  quarrv  and  tho  .r.iUn 

having  lighted  candles,  we  entered  into^?he  Interior  and  Le 

enough  fnW    ^"«^«"^«d'  consecutively,  into  a  hole,  just  wide 

progress  to  immortality,  when  the  blade  of  his  kSXS 
^  shutting  suddenly,  cut  his  finger.    These  attempts  hS 

negjjbourhood,  we  went  to  see  the  ceremonyr^^'^'^""^  ^  ""' 
nerm  rr*     ?  *^''*'*'^*  ^*^  ««P«"«*1  t^o  /ears  are  ffenerallf 

KS^'l^o  s  r.r  '^'  ""'"'^'^  ^"  '^'  course  ff°a 

UM  oride,  according  to  the  circumstances  of  her  relations,  pre- 


LORD    BYRON. 


91 


Fres  domestic  chattels  for  her  future  family.    The  aflbctio..^ 
are  rarely   consulted  on  either  side;  for   the  niolLr  nf  ? 
bridegroom  eomn,only  urran.ro,  the  match  fo    he    son      t 
thi«  case,  the  choice  had  bee'n  evidently  made  accordimr  to 

govvn,  vi/.  lor  the  qualities  that  would  wear  well.     For  thf 
n^tllT  V'r'  ^""'"'^'^^'^  '!"«'''"  '•  ''-^  f"«e  painted  with  vcr 
n   nts  '  uIhT  '7r  ""'^^'^  '"  ""^«"*h  embrordered  gar.' 

of  my  journal  of  the  evenin,  cl^Sl^rad  on  ur^^  TrZT 
mg  of  the  new  moon,  they  put  a  little  honey,  a  little  sat^^^^^^^^ 

ZM?"  ",'"'"*<'nf  }-™"S  ™n,  rel„™  home,  and  W  for 
tlic  falfilracnt  ol  llio  charm.  On  mentioning  this  circumVtfn™ 

♦»,„♦     I    r  •       ""''^v   siooa.  .  it  IS,  therefor»\  hiffhlv  orohahlA 

At"  hi  "nc"rrd  "  «"Pr,f' ^""^'  "^"^  ^"^^-^^V  a^reiy  us  ri^i' 
venlurls  in^A  h     ^^  f;;,'  ow-passcngcrs  were  full  of  their  ad- 
ventures  in  Albania.     The  country  was  new,  and  the  inhabit 
ants  had  appeared  to  them  a  bold  and  singular  race      In  add  " 
Jon  to  the  characteristic  descriptions  which  I  have  extracted 

Zand«  nhlr   J   "'  ""'  '"""  ^'  *°  ^^h^''^'  ^°^  a  nmnber  of  me. 
rji    f  /*      "^"^ '"  conversation,  which  they  have  themselves 

SlTed  w?thT'''  '",^  ^^'^'^  P^^^^'''^  ^-^^«  unconsrul^' 

S  of  Th  i  -n  :;T"''?°"'  °^  ^''^ '  '^^  ^«^«^'  I  «^  discern 
S  iiK  ^  "  different  parts  of  the  poet's  works. 

often  remarkedThnr'  '  '"f-^^  mountaineers;  and  it  has  been 
Me  atS^!rf  * .  •  '"^^"t^'neers,  more  than  any  other  people, 
MhW  nf  .,  ""  ^r""  "5'^^  ^^"'^'  ^^"1«  "o  other  have  so  strong 
Scenes  of  thl-'^'^'f;  T^^/^^*^'^""  ^^'^'^  ^^^^  ^^^^'^^^  for  thi 
JSirk     pi  *h  ^°"*  •  *^"^«' Perhaps,  to  excite  their  migratory 

spirit,    for  the  motive  of  their  advAnfurna  i.  t i.-„  li 

^ueaua  of  subsisting  in  ease  at  home.  -- r-— ^e 

emXrit "  n7^  r'  ''"^'^  *^  .^"'"  ^^'^  ^'^  i«  q"««t  of  rural 
n  itie  t,reeks.  It  deserves,  however,  to  be  noticed,  that  witS 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


92 


THE  LIFE    OF 


the  Greeks  they  rarely  ever  mix  or  intermarry,  and  that  they 
retain  both  tlieir  own  national  dress  and  manners  unchanged 
among  them.  Several  of  their  customs  are  singular.  It  is, 
for  example,  in  vain  to  ask  a  light  or  any  fire  from  the  houses 
of  the  Albanians  after  sunset,  if  the  husband  or  hoad  of  the 
family  be  still  afield ;  a  custom  in  which  there  is  more  of  police 
regulation  than  of  superstition,  as  it  interdicts  a  plausible  pre- 
text  for  entering  the  cottages  in  the  obscurity  of  twilight,  when 
the  women  are  defenceless  by  tlie  absence  of  the  men. 

Some  of  their  usages,  with  respect  to  births,  baptisms,  and 
burials,  are  also  curious.  When  the  motlier  feels  the  fulness 
of  time  at  hand,  the  priestess  of  Lucina,  the  midwife,  is  duly 
summoned,  and  nhc  comes,  bearing  in  her  hand  a  tripod,  better 
known  as  a  three-legged  stool,  the  uses  of  which  are  only  re. 
vealed  to  the  initiated.  She  is  received  by  the  matronly  friends 
of  the  mother,  and  begins  the  mysteries  by  opening  every  lock 
and  lid  in  the  house.  During  this  ceremony  the  maiden  fe- 
males  are  excluded. 

The  rites  which  succeed  the  baptism  of  a  child  are  still  more 
recondite.  Four  or  five  days  after  the  christening,  the  midwife 
prepares,  with  her  own  mystical  bands,  certain  savoury  messes, 
spreads  a  table,  and  places  them  on  it.  She  then  departs,  and 
all  the  family,  leaving  the  door  open,  in  silence  retire  to  slf'ep. 
This  table  is  covered  for  the  Miri  of  the  child,  an  occult  being, 
that  is  supposed  to  have  the  care  of  its  destiny.  In  the  course 
of  the  night,  if  the  child  is  to  be  fortunate,  the  Miri  comes  and 
partakes  of  the  feast,  generally  in  the  shape  of  a  cat;  but  if  the 
Miri  do  not  come,  nor  taste  of  the  food,  the  child  is  considered 
to  have  been  doomed  to  misfortune  and  misery ;  and  no  doubt 
the  treatment  it  afterwards  receives  is  consonant  to  its  evil 
predestination. 

The  Albanians  have,  like  the  vulgar  of  all  countries,  a  spe- 
cies of  hearth  or  household  superstitions,  distinct  from  their 
wild  and  impertect  religion.  They  imagine  that  mankind, 
after  death,  become  voorthoolakases,  and  often,  pay  visits  to 
their  friends  and  foes  for  the  same  reasons,  and  in  the  same 
way  that  our  own  country  ghosts  walk  abroad ;  and  their  visit- 
ing  hour  is,  also,  midnight.  But  the  collyvillory  is  another  sort 
of  personage.  He  delights  in  mischief  and  pranks,  and  is, 
besides,  a  lewd  and  foul  spirit ;  and,  therefore,  very  properly 
detested.  He  is  let  loose  on  the  night  of  the  nativity,  with  li 
cencu  ibr  twelve  nights  to  plague  men's  wives ;  at  which  tiraa 
some  one  of  the  family  must  keep  wakeful  vigil  all  the  livelong 
night,  beside  a  clear  and  cheerful  fire,  otherwise  this  naughty 
imp  would  pour  such  an  aqueous  stream  on  the  hearth,  that 
never  fire  could  be  kindled  there  again. 


LOBD  BYRON. 


03 


The  Albanians  are  also  pestered  with  another  species  of  ma- 
lignant  creatures;  men  and  women,  whose  gifts  are  followed 
by  misfortunes,  whose  eyes  glimpse  evil,  and  by  whose  touch 
the  most  prosperous  affairs  are  blasted.  They  work  their  ma- 
licious  sorceries  in  the  dark,  collect  herbs  of  baleful  influence  ; 
by  the  help  of  which,  they  strike  their  enemies  with  palsy,  and 
cattle  with  distemper.  The  males  are  called  maissi,  and  the 
females  maissa — witches  and  warlocks. 

Besides  these  curious  superstitious  peculiarities,  they  have 
among  them  persons  who  pretend  to  know  tJie  character  of  ap- 
proaching events  by  hearing  sounds  which  resemble  those  that 
shall  accompany  the  actual  occurrences.  Having,  however,  given 
Lord  Byron's  account  of  the  adventure  of  his  servant  Dervish,  at 
Cape  Colonna,  it  is  unnecessary  to  be  more  particular  with  the 
subject  here.  Indeed,  but  for  the  great  impression  which  every 
thing  about  the  Albanians  made  on  the  mind  of  the  poet,  the 
insertion  of  these  memoranda  would  be  irrelevant.    They  will, 
hcwcver,  serve  to  elucidate  several  allusions,  not  otherwise  very 
clear,  in  those  poems  of  which  the  scenes  are  laid  in  Greece ;  and 
tend,  in  some  measure,  to  confirm  the  correctness  of  the  opinion, 
that  his  genius  is  much  more  indebted  to  facts  and  actual  adven- 
tures, than  the  force  of  his  imagination.    Many  things  regard- 
ed in  his  most  original  productions,  as  fancies  and  invention, 
may  be  traced  to  transactions  in  which  he  was  himself  a  spec- 
tator or  an  actor.    The  impress  of  experience  is  vivid  upon 
them  all. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Local  pleaBures.— Byron's  Grecian  poems— His  departure  from  Athens  — 
Description  of  evening  in  the  Corsair.-The  opening  of  the  Giaour.- 
State  of  patriotic  feeling  then  in  Greece.-S.nyrna.-Change  in  Lord 
I      Byron's  manners.  .  ^ 

The  genii  that  preside  over  famous  places  have  less  influence 
on  the  unagination  than  on  the  memory.  The  pleasures  en- 
joyed on  the  spot,  spring  from  the  reminiscences  of  reading ;  and 
the  subsequent  enjoyment  derived  from  having  visited  cele- 
lebrated  scones,  comes  again  from  the  remembrance  of  obiecta 
seen  iiiere,  and  the  associations  connected  with  them. 

The  residence  at  Athens,  day  after  day,  is  but  little  more  in- 
teresLing  than  in  a  common  country  town :  but  afterwards  in 
readmg  either  of  the  ancient,  or  of  the  modern  inhabitants,  it 
w  surprising  to  find  how  much  local  knowledge  the  memory 


94 


THE  LIFE  OP 


had  unconsciously  acquired  on  the  spot,  arising  from  the  variety 
of  objects  to  which  the  attention  had  been  directed. 

The  best  of  all  Byron's  works,  the  most  racy  and  original 
are  undoubtedly  those  which  relate  to  Greece  ;  but  it  is  only 
travellers  who  have  visited  the  scenes  that  can  appreciate  them 
properly.    In  them  his  peculiar  style  and  faculty  is  most  emi- 
nent ;  m  all  his  other  productions,  imitation,  even  mere  trans- 
lation, maybe  often  traced;  and  though,  without  question, 
every  thing  he  touched  became  transmuted  into  something 
more  beautiful  and  precious,  yet  he  was  never  so  masterly  al 
in  describing  the  scenery  of  Greece,  and  Albanian  manners. 
In  a  general  estimate  of  his  works,  it  may  be  found  that  he 
has  produced  as  fine,  or  finer  passages  than  any  in  his  Gre 
cian  poems;  but  their  excellence,  cither  as  respects  his  own 
or  the  productions  of  others,  is  comparative.    In  the  Grecian 
poems  he  is  only  truly  original;   in  them  the  excellence  is 
all  his  own,  and  they  possess  the  rare  and  distinguished  quality 
of  being  as  true  to  fact  and  nature,  as  they  are  brilliant  in 
poetical  expression.     Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage  is  the  most 
taithful   descriptive  poem  which  has  been  written  since  the 
Udyssey ;  and  the  occasional  scenes  introduced  in  the  other 
poems,  when  the  action  is  laid  in  Greece,  are  equally  vivid  and 
glowing.  1      J 

,  When  I  saw  him  at  Athens,  the  spring  was  still  shrinking 
m  the  bud.  It  was  not  until  he  returned  from  Constantinople 
m  the  following  autumn,  that  he  saw  the  climate  and  country 
with  those  dehghtflil  aspects  which  he  has  delineated  wi<'  4 
much  felicity  m  the  Giaour  and  Corsair.  It  may,  howe^  , 
mentioned,  that  the  fine  description  of  a  calm  sunseL  .  th 
which  the  third  canto  of  the  Corsair  opens,  has  always  re- 
minded me  of  the  evening  before  his  departure  from  Athens 
owing  to  the  circumstance  of  my  having,  in  the  course  of  the 
S'Jd^  ^^°*  ^^'""^  probably  suggested  the  scene  de- 

It  was  the  4th  of  March,  1810;  the  Pylades  sloop  of  war 
came  that  morning  into  the  Piraeus,  and  landed  Dr.  Darwin  a 
son  of  the  poet,  with  his  friend,  Mr.  Galton,  who  had  come  out 
in  her  for  a  cruise.  Captain  Ferguson,  her  commander,  was  so 
k^nd  as  0  offer  the  English  then  in  Athens,  viz..  Lord  Byron, 
Mr.  Hobhouse,  and  myself,  a  passage  to  Smyrna.    As  I  had 

"?r''ur1r'"^.'"^^?''^'/'°^  ^P^^'*'  ^  •^°"l'i  "«t  avail  my- 
-_e     ...  ,a^  o.ier ;  uui  uic  omer  two  did  :  I  accompanied  Captain 

Ferguson,  however,  and  Dr.  Darwin,  in  a  walk  to  the  Straits 

ot  balamis;  the  ship  m  the  mean  time,  afler  landing  them. 

havmg  been  moored  there.  ^  ' 

It  was  one  of  those  serene  and  cloudless  days  of  the  early 


LORD  BYRON.  05 

spring,  when  the  first  indications  of  leaf  and  blossom  may  just 
be  discerned.  The  islands  slept,  as  it  were,  on  their  glassy 
coucn,  and  a  slight  dim  haze  hung  upon  the  mountains,  as  if 
they  too  were  drowsy.  After  an  easy  walk  of  about  two  hours» 
passmg  through  the  olive-groves,  and  along  the  bottom  of  the 
hiU  on  which  Xerxes  sat  to  view  the  battle,  we  came  opposite 
to  a  htUe  cove  near  the  ferry,  and  made  a  signal  to  the  ship 
for  a  boat.  Havmg  gone  on  board  and  partaken  of  some  re- 
treshment,  the  boat  then  carried  us  back  to  the  Pirteus,  where 
we  landed,  about  an  hour  before  sundown— all  the  wide  land- 
scape presenting  at  the  time  the  cilm  and  genial  tranquillity 
which  is  almost  experienced  anew  in  reading  these  delicious 
lines ; 

Slow  sinks  more  lovely  e'er  his  race  be  run. 
Along  Morea's  hills,  tlie  setting  sun  ; 
Not,  as  in  northern  climes,  obscurely  bright, 
But  one  unclouded  blaze  of  living  light. 
O'er  the  hush'd  deep  the  yellow  beam  he  throws, 
Gilds  the  green  wave  that  trembles  as  it  flows. 
On  old  Egina's  rock,  and  Idra's  isle, 
The  god  of  gladness  sheds  his  parting  smile ; 
O'er  his  own  regions  lingering,  loves  to  shine. 
Though  there  his  altars  are  no  more  divine  ;— 
Descending  fast,  the  mountain  shadows  kiss 
Thy  glorious  gulf,  unconqucr'd  Salamis  ! 
Their  azure  arches,  through  the  long  expanse, 
More  deeply  purpled  meet  his  mellowing  glance 
And  tenderest  tints,  along  their  summits  r'  iven, 
Mark  his  gay  course,  and  own  the  hues  of  heaven  ; 
Till  darkly  shaded  from  the  land  and  deep. 
Behind  his  Delphian  cliff  he  sinks  to  sleep. 

The  opening  of  the  Giaour  is  a  more  general  description;  but 
the  locality  is  distinctly  marked  by  reference  to  the  tomb  above 
the  rocks  of  the  promontory,  commonly  said  to  be  that  of  The- 
mistocles ;  and  yet  the  scene  included  in  it  certainly  is  ra- 
ther the  view  from  Cape  Colonna,  than  from  the  heights  of 
Munychia. 

No  breath  of  air  to  break  the  wave 
That  rolls  below  the  Athenian's  grave, 
That  tomb,  which  gleaming  o'er  the  cliff, 
First  greets  the  homeward  veering  skiff, 
High  o'er  the  land  he  saved  in  vain— 
When  shall  such  hero  live  again  ? 

The  environs  of  the  Pineus  were  indeed;  at  that  time,  well 
calculated  to  inspire  those  mournful  reflections  with  which  the 
poet  introduces  the  Infldei's  iiupassioued  tale.  The  solitude, 
the  relics,  the  decay,  and  sad  uses  to  which  the  pirate  and  the 
slave-dealer  had  put  the  shores  and  waters  so  honoured  by  free, 
dom,  rendered  a  visit  to  the  Piraeus  something  near  in  feeling 
to  a  pilgrimage. 


®^  THE  LIFE  OF 

Such  is  the  asjwct  of  this  biiore, 

'Tis  Greece,  but  living  Greece  no  more  I 

So  coldly  sweet,  so  deadly  fair. 

We  start,  for  soul  is  wanting  there. 

Her'a  is  the  loveliness  in  death. 

That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath: 

But  beauty  with  that  fearful  bloom, 

That  hue  which  haunts  it  to  the  tomb. 

Expression's  Inst  rccGfling  ray, 

A  gilded  halo  hov'ring  round  decay. 

The  farewell  beam  of  feeling  past  awav. 
M^u-  u     "'''^^  ^^'"'^'  P«'cliance  of  lieavonly  birth. 
Which  glea.ns,  but  warms  no  more  its  cherish'd  earth. 

At  that  time  Lord  Byron,  if  he  did  pity  the  condition  of  the 
Greeks,  evinced  very  little  confidence  in  the  resurrection  of 
the  nation,  even  although  symptoms  of  change  and  re-anima. 
tion  were  here   and   there    perceptible,  and  could  not  have 
escaped  his  observation.      Greece  had  indeed  been  so  lon<r 
ruined,  that  even  her  desolation  was  then  in  a  state  of  decay 
The  new  cycle  m  her  fortunes  had  certainly  not  commenced, 
but  It  was  manifest,  by  many  a  sign,  that  the  course  of  the  old 
was  concluding,  and  that  the  whole  country  felt  the  assuring 
auguries  of  undivulged  renovation.    The  influence  of  that  pe. 
nod  did  not,  however,  penetrate  the  bosom  of  the  poet;  and 
Thllr         *"^";"«d  Athens,  assuredly  he  c^red  as  little  ibout 
the  destinies  ot  tlie  Greeks,  as  he  did  for  those  of  the  Portu- 
guese  and  Spaniards,  when  he  arrived  at  Gibraltar. 

About  three  ^yeeks  or  a  month  after  he  had  left  Athens  I 

iTc"  vi?h  Mr^'^f  '''"'!  '^  ^'"^"^^'  ''^'''  ^  ^«""d  him  wait, 
ng  with  Mr.  Hobhouse,    o  proceed  with  the  Salsetto  frigate, 
then  ordered  to  Constantinople,  to  bring  away  Mr.  Adairf  the 
ambassador.     He  had,  in  the  mean  time,  visited  Ephesus  'and 
acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  environs  of  Smyrna;  bit  he 
TrTfh     \  T  ^T  ^'''  interested  by  what  he  had  seen 
there,  than  by  the  adventures  of  his  Albanian  tour.    Perhaps 
I  did  him  injustice,  but  I  thought  he  was  also,  in  that  short 
space,  something  changed,  and  not  with  impro;ement.     To- 
wards Mr.  Ilobhouse,  he  seemed  less  cordial,  and  was  altogether, 
I  should  say,  having  no  better  phrase  to  express  what  I  would 
describe  more  of  a  Captain  Grand  than  improved  in  his  ma^ 

L?oY\  """'^  ^- 'PT''  *^  ^^^^'^  '"'^  «"'"  "Pin'«^  than  I  had  ever 
ner  onlr;":?^  ^'f:  ^ ''"'  P'^f  ticularly  struck  with  tl  .is  at  din- 
wl  r  ^I'^^t^^  "^y  arrival.  We  dined  together  with  a 
large  party  at  the  consul's,  and  he  seemed  inclined  in  ZIm  „ 

cal  On«  nVJh  "^""^""T'  i^^*  ^'"'  "'"^^  ^''^^y  than"phibs"ophi: 
the  SalsrL  i  f  "'^^^^„°«'*^^"  present.  I  think  the  captain  of 
nnLl5  '  ♦  '  *"'  '^^".  ^'  ** -'^^"'  th'«  overweening,  and  an- 
nounced  a  contrary  opinion  on  some  question  connected  wiSi 


LORD  BYRON. 


97 


he  politics  of  the  late  Mr.  P,tt  with  so  much  firm  ffood  sense, 
that  Lord  Byron  was  perceptibly  rebuked  by  it,  and  becamJ 
reserved,  as  if  he  deemed  that  sullenness  enhanced  dignity     I 
never  m  the  whole  course  of  my  acquaintance  saw  him  kithe 
80  unfavourably  as  he  did  on  that  occasion.    In  the  course  of 
the  evening-,  however,  he  condescended  to  thaw,  and  before  the 
party  broke  up,  ius  austerity  began  to  leaf,  and  hide  its  thorns 
under  the  influence  of  a  relenting  temperament.    It  was,  how. 
evnr,  too  evident-at  least  it  was  so  to  me~that  without  intend- 
ina:  wrong,  or  any  offence,  the  unchecked  humour  of  his  temper 
was  by  Its  caprices,  calculated  ♦o  prevent  him  from  ever  ffain- 

ZV  .1  'T^^  ^  T^'''^  ^"'  ^^^^'^t^  ^^  freer  ^oods,  Lide- 
Ct^\''^'''^^''^^-''''Sht  to  h^ye  entitled  him.  Such  men 
become  objects  of  solicitude,  but  never  of  esteem. 

1  was  ulsoon  this  occasion  struck  with  another  new  phase 
m  his  character  ;  he  seemed  to  be  actuated  by  no  purpose— he 
spoke  no  more  of  passing  "  beyond  Aurora  and  tlie  Ganges," 
i!'Jl?    li'T'Ti^''  ^^^  ^^''  current  of  chances  carry  him  as 
nnl  f  N  .       f  had  any  specific  object  in  view,  it  was  some- 
thing  that  made  him  hesitate  between  going  home  and  return- 
ing to  Atiiens  when  he  should  have  reached  Constantinople 
now  become  the  ultimate  goal  of  his  intended  travels.  To  what 
cause  this  sudden  and  singular  change,  both  in  demeanor  and 
design,  was  owing,  I  wa.  on  the  point  of  saying,  it  would  be 
ruitless  to  conjecture :  but  a  letter  to  his  mother,  written  a 
ew  days  before  my  arrival  at  Smyrna,  throws  some  light  on 
he  sources  of  las  unsatisfied  state.    He  appears  bv  it  to  have 
and^sa  ''^!!'""*'''^  of  letters  and  remittances  from"  his  agent. 

When  I  arrive  at  Constantinople,  I  shall  determine  wheUier 
0  proceed  into  Persia  or  return-which  latter  I  do  not  wish 
1 1  can  avoid  it.    But  I  have  no  intelligence  from  Mr.  H..  and 

«^  f'^T  !u®''  J  P'^*'"'^'^  *''■  '■^*"'""-  I  have  written  to  him 
Kglect."  ^*  '"^•^"°*  P'"^"*  ignorance  of  my  situation 
Here  is  sufficient  evidence  that  the  cause  of  the  undeter- 
mined  state  of  his  mind,  which  struck  me  so  forcibly,  was 
owing  to  the  mcertitude  of  his  aflfairs  at  home;  and  it  is  easy 
to  conceive  that  the  false  dignity  he  assumed,  and  which  seem- 

l»r  ^'^eiirrogance,  was  the  natural  effect  of  the  anxiety  and 

embarrasRmRnf  Ha  en(lv»-p/i  o„^-,r*i i ?        ^     ■^ 

nF K.o  ,„  V~i" — •  ■"     "'  '■"''  apHiuiiciision  oi  a  person 

01  nis  rank  bemg,  on  account  of  his  remittances,  exposed  to 

LT'^?'''*^"^«  ^'"""ff  strangers.    But  as  the  scope  of  my 
task  relates  mo.  e  to  the  history  of  his  mind,  than  ofhis  prf. 


98 


THE  LIFE  OP 


vate  affairs,  I  shall  resume  the  narrative  of  his  travels  in  I 
iltere8ted.°''"°"*^  of  the  reader  ought  to  be  more  legitimately  | 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

^'"^Th»7T!'i%^P°'^  ''^/•'®  Djerid.-Journey  to  Ephesns.-The  dead  city  I 
-The  desolate  country  -The  ruins  ruid  obliteration  of  the  temple - 
The  slight  impression  of  all  on  Byron.  =  icmpie. 

The  passage  in  the  Py lades,  from  Athens  to  Smyrna,  vvai 
performed  vi^ithout  accident  or  adventure. 

At  Smyrna  Lord  Byron  remained  several  days,  and  saw  for 
the  first  time  the  Turkish  pastime  of  the  Djerid,  a  species  of 
tournament  to  wJuch  he  more  than  once  alludes.  I  shall  there. 
tore  describe  the  amusement. 

The  Musselim  or  Governor,  with  the  chief  Agas  of  the  city  i 
mounted  on  horses  superbly  caparisoned,  and  attended  by  slnvel' 
meet,  commonly  on  Sunday  morning,  on  their  playground 
J^ach  of  the  riders  is  furnished  with  one  or  two  djerids,  straight 
white  sticks,  a  little  thinner  than  an  umbrella-stick,  less  at  om 
end  than  at  the  other,  and  about  an  ell  in  length,  together  will 
a  thm  cane  crooked  at  the  head.  The  horsemenT  perhaps  a 
hundred  m  number,  gallop  about  in  as  narrow  a  spacVas  pos. 
able  throwing  the  djerids  at  each  other  and  shouting.  Each 
man  then  selects  an  opponent  who  has  darted  his  djerid  oris 
lor  the  moment  without  a  weapon,  and  rushes  furiously  towards 

tenrv'^'^^i/u^""*"'  ^"°^'"  The  other  flies,  looking 
behind  him,  and  the  instant  the  dart  is  launched  stoops  down 
wards  as  low  as  possible,  or  wheels  his  horse  with  inconceivable 
rapidity,  and  picking  up  a  djerid  with  his  cane,  or  taking  one 
trom  a  running  slave,  pursues  in  his  turn  the  enemy,  who 
wheels  on  the  instant  he  darts  his  weapon.    The  greatest  dfx. 

rfn^ '^f^*^?''^^^"*''^'^  '"'"""  b'^ttles  to  avoid  the  concur- 1 
rence  of  the  "  javelin-darting  crowd,"  and  to  escape  the  random 
blows  of  the  flying  djerids. 

Byron  having  satisfied  his  curiosity  with  Smyrna,  which  iJ 
so  like  every  other  Turkish  town  as  to  excite  but  little  interest, 
set  out  with  Mr.  Hobhouse  on  the  13th  of  March  for  Ephesus, 
AS  1  soon  after  passed  along  the  same  road,  I  shall  here  describe 
What  I  met  with  myself  in  the  course  of  th^  jonmo^r  j*  i^;j,J 

fhni* ^'l*  wi^^  incidents  were  in  few  respects  different'from 
those  which  they  encountered. 

On  ascending  the  heights  after  leaving  Smyrna,  the  road  was 


LORD  BYBON. 


99 


3  different  from 
la,  the  road  was  I 


Uarkable  in  being  formed  of  the  broken  relics  of  ancient 
^difices,  partly  Macadam-sed.  On  the  brow  of  the  hill  I  met  J 
rmmerous  caravan  of  camels  coming  from  the  interior  of  Asia. 
These  ships  of  the  desert,  variously  loaded,  were  moving  slowly 
0  their  port;  and  i  seemed  to  me  as  I  rode  past  them,  that  thi 
composed  docile  look  of  the  animals  possessed  a  sort  of  domes. 
Ucated  grace  which  lessened  the  effect  of  their  deformity 

n^X'nT'r'"?K^u^'^"'"*^'  dresses  Of  the  passengers 
nd  attendants,  with  the  numerous  grotesque  circumstances 
^vhich  It  presents  to  the  stranger,  affords  an  amusing  spectacle. 
lOnthe  back  of  one  camel  three  or  four  children  were  squabblinir 
lin a  basket;  m  another  cooking  utensils  were  clattering;  and 
Ifrom  a  crib  on  a  third  a  young  camel  looked  forth  inqufrinffly 

p:::n^t  iXirtf""'' '""  °'  '^'  ^^^^^-^^^  ^^ 

I  On  reaching  the  summit  of  the  hills  behind  Smyrna,  the  road 
lies  through  fields  and  cotton-grounds,  well  cultivated,  and 
interspersed  with  country-houses.  After  an  easy  ride  of  three 
or  four  hours  I  passed  through  the  ruins  of  a  considerable 
lurkish  town,  containing  four  or  five  mosques,  one  of  them,  a 
handsome  building,  still  entire;  about  twenty  houses  or  so. 
might  be  described  as  tenantable,  but  only  aplace  of  sepulchred 
could  be  more  awful :  it  had  been  depopulated  by  the  pla<rue— 
aU  was  silent,  and  the  streets  were  matted  with  thick  ffrass. 
m  passing  through  an  open  space,  which  reminded  me  of  a 
market-place,  I  heard  the  cuckoo  with  an  indescribable  sensa- 
Uon  of  pleasure  mingled  with  solemnity.  The  sudden  presence 
ot  a  raven  at  a  bridal  banquet  could  scarcely  have  been  a 
greater  phantasma. 

Proceeding  briskly  from  this  forsaken  and  dead  citv,  I 
arrived  4n  the  course  of  about  half-an-hour  at  a  coffee-house  on 
the  banks  of  a  small  stream,  where  I  partook  of  some  refresh- 
ment  m  the  shade  of  three  or  four  trees,  on  which  several  storkr 
were  conjugally  building  their  nests.  While  lesting  there,  I 
became  interested  in  their  work,  and  observed,  that  when  any 
ot  their  acquaintance  happened  to  fly  past  with  a  stick,  they 
Chattered  a  sort  of  How-d'ye-do  to  one  another.  This  civility 
was  so  uniformly  and  reciprocally  performed,  that  the  politeness 
i  ot  Uie  stork  may  be  regarded  as  even  less  disputable  than  its  piety, 
the  road  from  that  coffee-house  lies  for  a  mile  or  two  along 

the  side  of  a  marshv  lakft.  thr>  nnu^rnns  of  ...v.;«u  „-„  « »- 

«reary  and  barren ;  an  extensive  plain  succeeds,  on  which  I 
noticed  several  broken  columns  of  marble,  and  the  evident 
traces  of  an  ancient  causeway,  which  apparently  led  through 
the  water.  Near  the  extremity  of  the  lake  was  another  small 
cottee.house,  witli  a  burial-ground  and  a  mosque  near  it ;  and 


100 


THE  LIFE  OP 


y 


about  four  or  f  j  miles  beyond  I  passed  a  spot,  to  which  seve. 
ral  Turks  brod^ht  a  coffinless  corpse,  and  laid  it  on  the  grass 
while  they  silently  dug  a  grave  to  receive  it. 

The  road  then  ascended  the  hills  on  the  south  side  of  tho 
plain,  of  which  the  marshy  lake  was  the  centre,  and  passed 
through  a  tract  of  country  calculated  to  inspire  only  apprehen. 
sion  and  melancholy.  Not  a  habitation  nor  vestige  of  living 
man  was  in  sight,  but  several  cemeteries,  with  their  dull  func 
real  cypresses  and  tombstones,  served  to  show  that  the  country 
had  once  been  inhabited. 

Just  as  the  earliest  stars  began  to  twinkle,  I  arrived  at  a  third 
coffee-house  on  the  road-side,  with  a  little  mosque  befor  j  it,  a 
spreading  beech-tree  for  travellers  to  recline  under  in  the  spring, 
ajid  a  rude  shed  for  them  in  showers,  or  the  more  intense  sun 
shme  of  summer.  Here  I  rested  for  tho  night,  ond  in  the 
morning  at  daybreak  resumed  my  journey. 

After  a  short  ride  I  reached  the  borders  of  the  plain  of 
Ephesus,  across  which  I  passed  along  a  road  rudely  constructed, 
and  raised  above  the  marsh,  consisting  of  broken  pillars,  en- 
tablatures,  and  inscriptions,  at  the  end  of  which  two  other  paths 
diverge;  one  strikes  off  to  the  left,  and  leads  over  the  Cayster 
by  a  bridge  above  the  castle  of  Aiasaluk— tho  other,  leading  to 
the  right  or  west,  goes  directly  to  Scala  Nuova,  the  ancient 
Neapohs.  By  the  latter  Byron  and  his  friend  proceeded  towards 
the  ferry,  which  they  crossed,  and  wliere  they  found  the  river 
about  the  size  of  the  Cam  at  Cambridge,  but  more  rapid  and 
deeper.  They  then  rode  up  the  south  bank,  and  about  three 
o  clock  m  the  afternoon  arrived  at  Aiasaluk,  the  miserable 
village  which  now  represents  the  city  of  Ephesus. 

Having  put  up  their  beds  in  a  mean  khan,  the  only  one  in  the 
town,  they  partook  of  some  cold  provisions  which  they  had 
brought  with  them,  on  a  stone  seat  by  the  side  of  a  fountain,  on 
an  open  green  near  to  a  mosque,  shaded  with  tall  cypresses. 
During  their  repast  a  young  Turk  approached  the  fountain, 
and  after  washing  his  feet  and  hands,  mounted  a  flat  stone, 
placed  evidently  for  the  purpose  on  the  top  of  the  wall  surround- 
jng  the  mosque,  and  devoutly  said  his  prayers,  totally  regard- 
less of  their  appearance  and  operations. 

The  remainder  of  the  afternoon  was  spent  in  exploring  the 
rums  of  Aiasaluk,  and  next  morning  they  proceeded  to  examine 
those  of  the  castle,  and  the  mouldered  magnificence  of  Ephesus. 
ihe  remains  of  the  celebrated  temple  of  Diana,  one 'of  the 
wonders  of  the  ancient  world,  could  not  be  satisfactorily  traced; 
.  fragments  of  walls  and  arches,  which  had  been  plated  with 
marble,  were  all  they  could  discover,  with  many  broken  columns 
that  had  once  been  mighty  in  their  altitude  and  strength: 


\ 


LORD   BVHOX. 


101 


several  fragments  were  fifteen  feet  long,  and  of  enormous  cir. 
cumferenco.  Such  is  the  condition  of  that  superb  edifice,  which 
was,  m  Its  glory,  four  hundred  and  twenty  feet  long  by  two 
hundred  and  twenty  feet  broad,  and  adorned  with  more  than  a 
hundred  and  twenty  columns  sixty  feet  high. 

When  the  travellers  had  satisfied  their  curiosity,  if  that  can 
be  called  satisfaction  which  found  no  entire  form,  but  saw  only 
the  rubbish  of  desolation  and  the  fragments  of  destruction,  they 
returned  to  Smyrna. 

The  investigation  cf  the  ruins  of  Ephesus  was  doubtless  in- 
teresting  at  the  time,  but  the  visit  produced  no  such  impression 
on  the  mind  of  Byron  as  might  have  been  expected.  He  never 
directly  refers  to  it  in  his  works :  indeed,  after  Athens,  the 
relics  of  Ephesus  are  things  but  of  small  import,  especially  to 
an  imagination  which,  like  that  of  the  poet,  required  the  action 
of  living  characters  to  awaken  its  dormant  sympathies. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Embarks  for  Constmitinople.-Touches   at  Tenedos.-Visits  Alexan- 
ConsianT*"~l       Trojan  plain.-Swims  the  Hellespont.— Arrival  at 

On  the  11th  April,  Lord  Byron  embarked  at  Smyrna,  in  the 
!>alsette  frigate,  for  Constantinople.  The  wind  was  fair  during 
the  night,  and  at  half-past  six  next  morning,  the  ship  was  off 
the  Sygean  Promontory,  the  north  end  of  the  ancient  Lesbos  or 
Mi^^lene.  Having  passed  the  headland,  north  of  tlie  little  town 
of  Baba,  she  came  in  sight  of  Tenedos,  where  she  anchored, 
and  the  poet  v/ent  on  shore  to  view  the  island. 

The  port  was  full  of  small  craft,  which  in  their  voyage  to  the 
Archipelago,  had  put  in  to  wait  for  a  change  of  wind,  and  a 
crowd  of  Turks  belonging  to  these  vessels  were  lounging  about 
on  the  shore.  The  town  was  then  in  ruins,  having  been  burn- 
cd  to  the  ground  by  a  Russian  squadron  in  the  year  1807. 

Next  morning,  Byron,  with  a  party  of  officers,  left  the  ship 
to  visit  the  ruins  of  Alexandria  Troas,  and  landed  at  an  open 
port,  about  six  orjeven  miles  to  the  south  of  where  the  Salsette 
«as  at  anchor.  The  spot  near  to  where  they  disembarked  was 
marked  by  several  large  cannon-balls  of  granite;  for  the  ruins 
of  Alexandria  have  long  supplied  the  fortresses  of  the  Darda- 
nelles '.vith  these  gigantic  missiles. 

They  rambled  some  time  through  the  shaggy  woods,  with 
which  the  country  is  covered,  and  the  first  vestiges  of  antiquity 


f  ' 


102 


THE  LIPB  OF 


Which  attracted  their  attention  wore  two  larire  sarcoohairi  •  . 

mie  beyond  they  found  two  or  three  fragmeZ  of  SnU^^il 
lars  one  of  them  about  twcnty.five  feet  in  length? and  aUeast 
five  in  diameter.    Near  these  they  saw  arches  of  brick  work 

♦ar1vTrav:irS'''''""'"T  "'^^"'^^"^  reinls'to  whth 
♦arly  travellers  Jiave  given  the  name  of  the  palace  of  Priam 

but  which  are,  in  fact,  the  ruins  of  ancient  baths.    An  earth' 

quake  in  the  course  of  the  preceding  v.inter  had  thrown  down 

Ss'nd  mSr^  '''''''''  ^^^^  ^-^«  —  of  mural 
thelfselvesln  tie  mfd  !^'"^«"°^  through  a  gap,  and  found 

KdtLn        f^"«n  blocks  were  of  vast  dimensions,  and 
evKi  off-?"    °'"";^  ^^^  ^""'^  ""''^  ^"  the  construction,  an 

hL^^^il'Se^otn^f^^^^^^^^^  ^^^P^'  -^  marble  ^Sl; 
thr!rmiler'„^^*^'';/^'  ''i'*^"'^  *°  th^  sea  is  between  two  and 
Ei  Z  '"*^f 'Pf^.^'d  ^J.th  spots  of  cultivated  ground.    On  this 

Sh.ltrnTr?  of \I''  l^r'i:^^  '^^^^^  ^^^«  built.    On  th 
K«VriIw   \r     °^  ^ '®  ^^"•'''  *«  the  extent  of  a  mile,  may  vet 

tt  sSf  thpTmT'  i-^  'K''''  ^''  ^'^o  «till  to  beTeJnC 
TVnfi  T  ^  ^""'  ^^o"t'"?  the  sea,  commandin?  a  view  of 
Tenedos,  Lemnos,  and  the  whole  expanse  of  the  Igean 

wiSrfcT'"? •* '^^^  ^".'^«' -hom  they  hfd  L^^^^ 

Tndria  T^oIsTh Jvf't    ''  '°/^'  P,"""^P^^  antiquities  of  Alfx- 

years,  nas  attracted  the  attention,  and  inter^-stpd  fh^  ft.ai;«^ 
and  fancy  of  the  civilized  world  ^ler.sted  the  feelings 

Trreler'havTn.^^'?/"-'''^"'""*^  ""^  '^"^^t  of  Homer's 
from  thriittlfih?  existed  IS  not  very  clear.  It  is  probable, 
?;  ™<r!.,:!".i'i^^  «^y^  Of  .the  subject,  that  he  took  no  interest 
mo;eUSilTtv  inM  th'^'/'"^^  no  traveller  could  enter  with 
TeTet  nTv«r  «?  aI^  ^°^^'  associations  of  celebrated  places, 
a^tfouitv  !nH"*  ^  '"^  ™""^  '^hout  the  visible  featiJes  of 
anUquity,  and  was  always  more  inclined  to  indulire  in  reflec- 
Hon.  than  to  puzzle  hi.  learning  with  date,  or  Snn^r^HiM 


^fl- 


LORD  BYHOIT. 


108 


\ 


e  sarcophagi ;  a 
s  of  granite  pil. 
th,  and  at  least 
i  of  brick-work, 
nains,  to  which 
alace  of  Priam, 
hs.  An  earth. 
i  thrown  down 
IS  of  the  edifice 
isses  of  mural 


of  Homer's 
is  probable, 
k  no  interest 
d  enter  with 
>rated  places, 
e  features  of 
Ige  in  reflec- 
ensioiui.  Hif 


ruiniiiationB  on  the  Troad,  in  Don  J.ian,  afford  an  instance  of 
this,  and  are  conceived  in  the  very  spirit  of  Childe  Harold. 

"^Alid^inl^'V"?'"'*.  "i:**  """""ff  """'^  "«»  nominal, 
Anrt  love  of  glory's  but  pn  airy  lust. 

loo  onen  jn  its  fury  ovorcoinins  all 
VVho  would,  as  'twere,  identify  their  dust 
li  "I'i  ""' "'"If  !l«Htruttion  which,  entombing  all. 
Leaves  nothinj?  till  the  coming  of  the  Just. 

Save  change     I've  stood  upon  Achilles'  tomb. 

And  heard  Troy  doubted-iime  will  doubt  of  Rome. 

The  very  generations  of  the  dead 

iTn/f  .1""''"  ^^■"y'  "'"'  ^"'»^'  inherits  toir.b. 
until  the  memory  of  an  age  is  fled 

And  buried,  sinks  beneath  it>j  offspring's  doom. 

Where  are  the  epitaphs  out  fathers  leadf 

bave  a  few  glean'd  from  the  Pepulchral  gloom 

S  l5se"thp""'"'"  ■'"^"'•'^«'  "^"«^'«^^.  »e  Sth. 
And  lose  their  own  in  universal  death 

No  task  of  curiosity  can  indeed  be  less  satisfactorv  thnn  ♦»,« 
exannnation  of  the  sites  of  ancient  cities ;  for  tSe/uSes  not 
con  ent  with  lead  „g  the  traveller  to  the  sporoften  ^aTtem^t  S 

sTnces  vvHohTjf '"''•°"'  ^y  ^'''''''^^  h>«  attention  toSm^ 

tances  which  they  suppose  to  be  evidence  that  verifies  their 

traditions     Tims,  on  the  Trojan  ploin.  several  objects  are  S 

tad"  TttiwV^""'^'!,^  the^elfsame  IXned    ^  I^J 

liad.     J  he  wild  fig.trees,  and  the  tomb  of  Ilus,  are  vet  tbere-1 

«f  the  guides  may  be  credited.    But  they  were  seen  wifh^7 

credulous  eyes  by  the  poet :  even  the  toiS  of  Ich  Ue-  ZZSl 

aescnption  of  the  scene  around  is  f^triking,  and  tinted  with 
some  ofhis  happiest  touches.  s.  «"u  uniea  wiiii 

'^'If,''®  ?"  "?«  P^een  and  village-cotted  hi?u« 

tTv^L"'^  ^'T^^  "*■'*>«  ^^»v«'  Achilles.- 
Anrif.^rM/^?-    Bryant  says  the  contrary. 
And  farther  downward  tall  and  towering  still  is 

The  tumulus,  of  whom  Ksaven  knowsit  may  be 
Patroculus.  Ajax,  or  Protesilaus,  ^ 

All  heroes,  who,  if  living,  still  would  slay  us. 

High  barrows  without  marble  or  a  name 

A«^^!lf  •""^u''l'*"''™o""'»'nsk''-ted  plain, 

*  !i    ,i"  'he  distance  still  the  same. 

And  old  Scamander,  if 'tis  he,  remain: 
The  situation  seems  still  formed  for  fame, 

A  Hundred  thonsnnd  mon  mj»h*  <;~k« :.. 

The  quiet  sheep  fe  yis,  and  the  tortoise  crawls 

^«S?'il',"'u"''^."*  ''"'^^ :  l'«'^  and  there 
finmr«hLnl^  hamlets,  with  new  naiies  uncouth. 
Borne  shepherds  unlike  Paris,  led  to  stare 
A  moment  at  the  European  youth, 


if/: 


104  THE  LIFE  OF 

Whom  to  the  «pot  their  schoolboy  feelin^ts  bear ; 
A  Turk,  with  beads  in  hand  and  pjpe  in  .aouin, 
'  Extremely  taken  with  his  own  religion, 

Are  what  I  found  there,  but  the  devil  a  Phrygian. 

It  was  during  the  time  that  the  Salsette  lay  ofF  Cape  Janissary 
that  Lord  Byron  first  undertook  to  swim  across  the  Hellespont. 
Havinff  crossed  from  the  castle  of  Chanak-Kalessi,  in  a  boat 
manned  by  four  Turks,  he  landed  at  five  o'clock  in  the  evening 
half  a  mile  above  the  castle  of  Chelit-Bauri,  where,  with  an 
officer  of  the  frigate  who  accompanied  him,  they  began  their 
enterprise,  emulous  of  the  renown  of  Leander.    At  first  they 
Bwam  obliquely  upwards,  rather  towards  Nagara  Point  than 
the  Dardanelles;  but  notwithstanding  their  skil  and  eiforts 
they  made  Uttle  progress.     Finding  it  useless  to  struggle  with 
the  current,  they  then  turned  and  went  with  the  stream,  still 
however  endeavouring  to  cross.  It  was  not  until  they  had  been 
half  an  hour  in  the  water,  and  found  themselves  m  the  middle 
of  the  strait,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  below  the  castles   that 
they  consented  to  be  taken  into  the  boat  which  had  Mowed 
them.  By  that  time  the  coldness  of  the  water  had  so  benumbed 
their  Urabs  that  they  were  unable  to  stand,  and  were  otherwise 
much  exhausted.    The  second  attempt  was  made  on  the  dd 
of  May,  when  the  weather  was  warmer.    They  entered  the 
water  ^;  tL  distance  of  a  mile  and  a  half  f^ve  Chelit-Bauri, 
near  a  point  of  land  on  the  western  bank  of  the  Bay  of  Maito, 
and  swSim  against  the  stream  as  before,  but  not  for  so  long  a 
time.    In  less  than  half  an  hour  they  came  floating  down  the 
current  close  to  the  ship  which  was  then  anchored  ft  the  Dar 
danelles,and  in  passing  her  steered  for  the  bay  behind  the 
castle,  which  they  soon   succeeded  m  reaching,  and  landed 
about  a  mile  and!  half  below  the  ship.    Lord  Byron  has  re- 
corded  that  he  found  the  current  very  strong,  and  the  water 
cold;  that  some  large  fish  passed  him  in  the  middle  of  the 
channel ;  and  though  a  little  chilled,  he  was  not  fatigued,  and 
performed  the  feat  without  much  difficulty,  but  not  with  irn- 
punity;  for  by  the  verses  in  which  he  commemorated  tne  ex- 
ploit, it  appears  he  incurred  the  ague. 

WRITTEN  AFTER  SWIMMING  FROM  SESTOS  TO  ABYDOS. 

»^:-.  ti.o  mnnth  of  dark  ppfeniher 
Leander  who  was  nightly  wont 
(WhRt  maid  will  not  the  tale  remember) 
To  cross  thy  stream,  broad  Hellespont. 

If  when  the  wintry  tempest  roar'd 
He  siied  to  Hero  nothing  loath, 
And  i:hu«  of  old  thy  current  poiu  d, 
fair  Veaus!  how  I  pity  both. 


LORD  BYKON. 


105 


\. 


S  TO  ABYDOS. 


For  me,  degenerate  modern  wretch, 
Though  in  the  genial  month  of  May, 
My  dripping  limba  I  faintly  stretch, 
And  think  I've  done  a  feat  to-day. 

But  since  he  crossed  the  rapid  tide. 
According  to  tlie  doiihtful  story. 
To  woo,  and — Lord  knows  what  beside, 
And  swam  for  love,  as  I  for  glory, 

'Twas  hard  to  say  who  fared  the  best ; 
Sad  mot  ials,  thus  tlie  gods  still  plague  you ; 
He  lost  his  labour.  I  my  jest, 
For  he  was  drown'd,  and  I've  the  ague. 

"  The  whole  distance,"  says  his  Lordship,  "  from  the  place 
i  whence  we  started,  to  our  landing  on  the  other  side,  including 
the  length  we  were  carried  by  the  current,  was  computed  by 
those  on  board  the  frigate  at  upwards  of  four  English  miles, 
though  the  actual  breadth  is  barely  one.     The  rapi        of  the 
current  is  such  that  no  boat  can  row  directly  across,  a^.u  it  may 
in  Bome  measure  be  estimated  from  the  circumstance  of  the 
whole  distance  being  accomplished  by  one  of  the  parties  in 
[an  hour  and  five,  and  by  the  other  (Byron)  in  an  hour  and  ten 
[minutes.    The  water  was  extremely  cold,  from  the  melting  of 
[the  mountain  snows.     About  three  weeks  before,  in  April,  we 
[had  made  an  attempt ;  but  having  ridden  all  the  way  from  the 
JTroad  the  same  morning,  and  the  water  being  of  an  icy  chill- 
iness, we  found  it  necessary  to  postpone  the  completion  till  the 
Ifrigate  anchored  below  the  castles,  when  we  swam  the  straits 
las  just  stated,  entering  a  considerable  way  above  the  European, 
and  landing  below  the  Asiatic  fort.    Ciievallier  says,  that  a 
jroung  Jew  swam  the  same   distance  for  his  mistress ;   and 
Oliver  mentions  it  having  been  done  by  a  Neapolitan  ;  but  our 
onsul  (at  the  Dardanelles,)  Tarragona,  remembered  neither 
Df  these  circumstances,  and  tried  to  dissuade  us  from  the  at- 
jtempt.    A  number  of  the  Salsette's  crew  were  known  to  have 
accomplished  a  greater  distance  ;  and  the  only  thing  that  sur- 
prised me  was,  that  as  doubts  had  been  entertained  of  the  truth 
af  Lcander's  story,  no  traveller  had  ever  endeavoured  to  ascer- 
lin  its  practicability." 

While  the  Salsette  lay  off  the  Dardanelles,  Lord  Byron  saw 
Ihe  body  of  a  man  who  had  been  executed  by  being  cast  into 
ihe  sea,  floating  on  the  stream,  moving  to  and  fro  with  the 
[ambling  of  the  water,  which  gave  to  his  arms  the  effijct  of 
bearing  away  several  sea-fowl  that  were  hovering  to  devour. 
This  incident  he  has  strikingly  depicted  in  "  The  Bride  of 
Ibydos." 

The  sea-birds  shriek  above  the  prey 
Oer  vvljich  their  hungry  beaks  delay, 


'I  .    r 


•I     +.' 


^^^  THE   LIFE   OP 

As  shaken  on  his  restless  pillow ; 

His  head  heaves  with  the  heaving  billow  - 

That  hand  whose  motion  is  not  life. 

Yet  feebly  seems  to  menace  strife, 

I-Jung  by  the  tossing  tide  on  high. 

'  «7  ^"  Jevell'd  with  the  wave— 

wr^[f ''^  i^  *•'""«''  ^hat  corse  shall  lie 
Within  a  living  grave. 

The  bird  that  tears  that  prostrate  form 

Hath  only  robbd  the  meaner  worm.— 

The  only  heart,  the  only  eye. 

ihat  bled  or  wept  to  see  him  die, 

Had  seen  those  scatter'd  limbs  composed. 
And  mourn'd  above  his  turban-stone; 

That  heart  hath  burst-that  eye  was  closed- 
Yea— closed  before  his  own. 

Between  the  Dardanelles  and  Constantinople  no  jther  ad 
venture  was  undertaken  or  befel  the  poet.    On  the    3th  of 

t^r  weS;i?\V;^^  'Ti''^  ^'  -"-*•  --  the  head  aS 
In  !l       1         the  Seragho  Point;  and  when  the  niffht  closed 
m,  the  silence  and  the  darkness  were  so  complete  "that  w« 
might  have  believed  ourselves/' says  Mr.  HobhJuse/' ild 

a  city  which  from  its  vast  extent  and  countless  poDulation  i. 
called  The  Refuge  of  the  World."  wormy  ro  oe 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

rets,  and  the  domes  of  the  great  mosques,  only  a^e  in  ST 

in  tKf  f ^  ^^'^  'r^  '"'^  r ""  '"^^'^  of  domesUc  buildS 
In  the  distance,  inland  on  the  left,  the  redoubted  castle Tthe 
Seven  Towers  is  seen  rising  above  the  gloomy  walls  •  and  nn 

ot  aTr-ms'remTr  f^'  ^  ?-«>-/«"":«  ptal 
overall.  Ihis  remarkable  characteristic  of  Constantinoole  is 
owing,  to  the  very  few  wheel-carriages  employed  in  the  citv 
In  other  respects  the  view  around  is  lively,  and  in  fine  weT 
ther  quickened  with  innumernhl«  nhi«.^.  t  JtJl  .  ^.?" 
calmest  days,  the  rippling  in  the  flow^oFthe^I^r^irorus  ffilke 
the  running  of  a  river.     In  the  fifth  canto  of  Don  Juan  Lord 

Xa^Zg^ffet  ''''''''''  '-'-''^^^'  delineatrd'ttm 


LORD  BYROF.  107 

The  European  with  the  Asian  shore. 
Sprinkled  with  palaces,  the  ocean  stream 
Here  and  there  studded  with  a  seventy-four 
Sophia's  cupola  with  golden  gleam ; 
The  cypress  groves  ;  Olympus  high  and  hOar ; 

v7/\JJir'^^^^ '  ""'^  *^^  '"°'« •*•»«  i  «=ould  dream. 
*ar  less  describe,  present  the  very  view, 

Which  charm'd  the  charming  Mary  Montague. 
In  the  morning,  when  his  Lordship  left  the  ship,  the  wind 
Wew  strongly  from  the  north-east,  and  the  rushing  current  of 
the  Bosphorus  dashed  with  great  violence  againit  the  rocky 
projections  of  the  shore,  as  the  captain's  boat  waa  rowed 
against  the  stream.  ^  ^®" 

The  wind  swept  down  the  Euxine,  and  the  wave 
Broke  foaming  o'er  the  blue  Symplegades. 
Tis  a  grand  sight,  from  off  the  giant't  grave. 
To  watch  the  progress  of  those  rolling  seas 
Between  the  Bosphorus,  as  they  lash  and  lave 
turope  and  Asia,  you  being  quite  at  ease. 

"The  sensations  produced  by  the  state  of  the  weather,  and 
leaving  a.  comfortable  cabin,  were,"  says  Mr.  Hobhouse,  "  in 
unison  with  the  impressions  which  we  felt  when  passing  under 
the  palace  of  the  sultans,  and  gazing  at  the  gloomy  cypresses 
which  rise  above  the  walls,  we  saw  two  dogs  knawing  a  d«'d 
body.      The  description  in  The  Siege  of  Corinth  of  the  do.  ^ 

.t^r'lfi^^  ^^^^'  T'^'  ^*'  ""g^^*^  t°  th'«  incident  of  the  do|s 
and  the  body  under  the  walls  of  the  seraglio. 

And  he  saw  the  lean  dogs  beneath  the  wall. 

Hold  o'er  the  dead  their  carnival : 

Gorging  and  growling  o'er  carcass  and  limb. 

They  were  too  busy  to  bark  at  him. 

From  a  Tartar's  scull  they  had  stripp'd  the  flesh 

As  ye  peel  the  fig  when  its  fruit  is  fresh 

And  their  white  tusKs  crunched  on  the  whiter  scull. 

As  It  siippd  through  their  jaws  when  their  edge  grew  dull. 

As  they  lazily  mumbled  the  bones  of  the  dead 

Kn  Ivp./h!^  scarce  could  rise  from  the  spot  where  they  fed. 

bo  well  had  they  broken  a  lingering  fast, 

With  those  who  had  fallen  for  that  night's  repast. 

And  Alp  knew  by  the  turbans  that  roll'd  on  the  sand. 

1  he  foremost  of  these  were  the  best  of  his  band. 

urimson  and  green  were  the  shawls  of  their  wear 

And  each  scalp  had  a  single  long  tuft  of  hair. 

All  the  rest  was  shaven  and  bare. 

The  scalps  were  in  the  wild  dogs'  maw, 

The  hair  was  tangled  round  his  iaw. 

cui  ciose  by  ihe  siiore  on  the  edge  of  the  gulf. 

There  sat  a  vulture  flapping  a  wolf, 

Who  had  stolen  from  the  hills  but  kept  away. 

Scared  by  the  dogs  from  the  human  prey  ; 

But  he  seized  on  his  share  of  a  ste«d  that  fay. 

I'lck  d  by  the  birds  on  the  aanda  of  the  bay. 


108 


THE  LIFE  OP 


Hi,>i 


whI!i!'iii'*^''°'^'l-P''''"'^  ''  ^  «'"^i"?  '"Stance  of  Uie  uses  fo 
rjd.ealou,  commences.    The  whole  com™,,TE„sl,™h  *  ?." 

The  gray  hairs  yet  stuck  to  the  heft. 

wolf  l!'"'^  '"  "*'  '^"^  ^'°"P  °^  the  vulture  flappinff  tlie 
wolf,  any  accessory  to  rouse  stronger  emotions  than  fhni 
which  are  associated  with  the  sight  of  c^rT^lZ^Z 

iwav  «;  th  ?L  tl  °"  '"  Pu"''"'"^  ^'^^  ^^°lf  fi'r  having  run 
thi  Lrll  bone  approaches  the  very  point  and  line  where 
the  horrible  merges  in  the  ludicrous.  The  whole  passap-e  ! 
fearfully  distinct;   and  though  in  its  circm^stances    aT  th 

■  S^lTw  ''^!;  'i^t'"^"  ^'  y^'  ^  amazTngSplay  of 
poetical  power  and  high  invention.  ^^ 

The  frigate  sent  the  travellers  on  shorp  nt  Tnr,i.o«,  f 

w^ch  the  road  ascends  to  Pera.    Near  th     iLTfe 

Iad?^p?"1f'":,^'*l^?""^  ^*  ^  P'^Wic  stand  of  hfrses  ready 
and  hf;  f.'^"f  d.by  boys.    On  some  of  these,  Lord  B™ 
and  his  friend,  with  the  officers  who  had  accot^panied  them 
moimted  and  rode  up  the  steep  hill,  to  the  prSplfrS 
Hotel,  m  Pera,  where  they  intended  to  lodge     In  the  course 
of  the  ride  their  attention  was  attracted  toth^e  prod"gious  nur^ 
ber  of  masterless  dogs  which  lounge  and  Irtrk  about  the  corner 
of  the  streets ;  a  nuisance  both  dangerous  and  disagreeable 
but  which  the  Turks  not  only  tolerate,  but  project   Tfs  no 

s^lh  ritXV^^^^^^^^^^    Krntfgthtd.Tr^J/ 

S  &trtfd^^^^^^^^^  f'^'^y  prfeiTst'Tu^J/are 

Hnnnli  if     t   ^'**"^to  dumb  animals  and  slaves.    Constan- 

nople  has,  however,  been  so  often  and  so  well  described  that 

"r:A^r!E:  i".!°  ^"  ^«  they  have  been  contributory  ^o  the 

"«-.-» •-ir  VI    liic  pout.  »■ 

.J^Ln  rZw  "'''■  ''^  "°''.'''"  "''^  '^"^'sited,  but  the  de- 
•cnption  m  Don  Juan  is  more  indebted  to  the  author's  foncv 
than  any  of  those  other  bright  reflections  of  realities  t^  JSl 


LORD  BYRON. 


109 


have  hitherto  directed  the  attention  of  the  reader.  The  market 
now-a-days  is  in  truth  very  uninteresting;  few  slaves  are  ever 
r  ?  ^u2  \'\  ^^^^^  the  place  itself  has  an  odious  resemblance 
to  Smithfield.  I  imagine,  therefore,  that  the  trade  in  slaves  is 
chiefly  managed  by  private  bargaining.  When  there,  I  saw 
only  two  men  for  sale,  whites,  who  appeared  very  little  con- 
cemed  atout  their  destination,  certainly  not  more  than  English 
rustics  offering  themselves  for  hire  to  the  farmers  at  a  fair 
or  market.  Doubtless,  there  was  a  time  when  the  slave-mar- 
ket^of  Ck)nstantinople  presented  a  different  spectacle,  but  the 
!  trade  Itself  has  undergone  a  change— the  Christians  are  now 
interdicted  from  purchasing  slaves.  The  luxury  of  the  guilt  is 
I  reserved  for  the  exclusive  enjoyment  of  the  Turks.  Still,  as  a 
description  of  things  which  may  have  been,  Byron's  market  !■ 
probable  and  curious. 

A  crowd  of  shivering  slaves  of  every  nation, 

And  age  and  sex  were  in  the  market  raneed. 

Each  busy  with  the  merchant  in  his  station. 

Poor  creatures,  their  good  looks  were  sadly  chans«^ , 

All,  save  the  blacks,  aeem'd  jaded  with  vexation 

From  friends,  and  home,  and  freedom  far  estranged 
The  negroes  more  philosophy  displayed, 
Used  to  it  no  doubt,  as  eels  are  to  be  flayed. 

me  a  backgammon  board,  the  place  was  dotted 

With  whites  and  blacks  in  groups,  on  show  for  sal 

Though  rather  more  irregularly  spotted; 

Some  bought  the  jet,  while  others  chose  the  pale. 

No  lady  e'er  is  ogled  by  a  lover. 

Horse  by  a  black-leg,  broad-cloth  by  a  tailor. 

Fee  by  a  counsel,  felon  by  a  jailor, 

As  is  a  slave  by  his  intended  bidder. 

'Tis  pleasant  purchasing  our  fellow-crealureB, 

And  all  are  to  be  sold,  if  you  consider 

Their  passions,  and  are  dextrous,  some  by  feature* 

^re  bought  up,  others  by  a  warlike  leader; 

Wome  by  a  place,  as  tend  their  years  or  natures: 
The  most  by  ready  cash,  but  all  have  prices, 
From  crowns  to  kicks,  according  to  their  vices. 

The  account  of  the  interior  of  the  seraglio  in  Don  Juan,  is 

also  only  pi-obably  correct,  and  may  have  been  drawn  in  sc- 

veral  particulars  from  an  inspection  of  some  of  the  palaces, 

but  the  descriptions  of  the  imperial  harem  are  entirely  fanciful. 

1  am  persuaded  by  different  circumstances,  that  Byron  could 

not  have  been  in  those  sacred  chambers  of  any  of  the  seraglios. 

At  the  time  I  was  in  Con>stantinople,  only  one  of  the  imperial 

";=iucnc65  waa  accessible  to  strangers,  and  it  was  unfurnished. 

J  ne  great  seraglio  waa  not  accessible  beyond  the  courts,  except 

m  those  apartments  where  the  sulf  an  receives  his  officers  and 

visiters  of  state.  Indeed,  the  waole  account  of  the  customs  and 

usages  of  the  interior  of  the  seraglio,  as  described  in  Don  Juan» 

K 


1  'liii:? 


THU  LIFE  OP 

can  only  be  regrardcd  as  inventions;  and  thouffh  thp  desrm 
tions  abound  in  picturesq.ic  beauty/they  have  not  that  S 

JO  generally  valuable,  independent  of  tlieir  poetical  excellence 

Ibe    "nd  fidpm  '7r'  ^'^«  fP-^--ts  o?the  men.  the  1    J 
imess  and  fidelity  of  his  pencil  cannot  be  denied ;  but  the  Ara 

?rvS;'"  •  J'^^'lf^'?^""  ^°  ^^^-^  '^^d  '"-«  influence  on   t 

fSh^nf  Tn'n  "^  "''  ""'''"^)  ^^^^^"''  ^'^'^^  ^  knowledge  of  c 
tual  things  and  appearances.  Not  that  the  latter  are  inferior  to 
the  former  in  beauty,  or  are  without  images  and  lineaments  of 
graphic  distinctness,  but  they  want  that  air  of  Sy  whi 

Tu  e    and'th  ""^""^'^''  ^"^^"^^^^  °^  ^is  scenes  dra^nfr™! 
of  making  th'/'  ^  vagueness  in  them  which  has  theeffe" 
ot  making  them  obscure,  and  even  fantastical.   Indeed  excent 

e'2:tini'tr"'\''""  ^^^"^'.  "^^^^«'  ^--  living  persoCand 
existing  things  his  superiority,  at  least  his  originality,  is  m\ 

so  obvious;  and  thus  it  happens,  that  his  gorgefus  deYcript  ot 

of  the  su  tan's  seraglio  is  like  a  versified  passage  of  an  Arab  J 

tale,  while  the  imagery  of  Childe  Harold's  visit  to  Ali  Pashar 

iW  t  td?.'f "'"  ''Im  "'^  "^-  ^°  ^''^^^  --«•     The  fl:; 
hfnathl^tH'h"'"''"    '•''  ^"  •™'^^*'""  of  Vathek.  than  any 
cont?.«f  U    ^    J^f  'f "'  ^^  ''  '"  «-^istence.     I  quote  it  for  th 
the  dTslin     ''^^*t*^'f  visit  referred  to,  and  in  illustration  of 

W  antri?        "^  !i''°!!'^  ^'  ™"^"  between.beauties  derived 
h^om  actual  scenes  and  adventures,  and  compilations  from  meJ 

more  of  pVT^'"''''";-^"^^'^  "^  «"PP°^«d  *«  di«P%  «o  much 
more  of  creative  invention.  "^  I 

Rn"hn'!'"i%^''^^  parted  each  by  separate  doors, 
Kaba  led  Juan  onward  room  bv  room 
Through  glittering  galleries  and  o'er  Garble  floors, 
Till  a  gigantic  portal  through  the  gloom 
Haughty  and  huge  along  the  distance  towers. 
And  wafted  far  arose  a  rich  perfume 

Pnf^n  ^  '"^^  *''"""''  ^^"y  '"'"'''■  "Pon  a  shrine. 
Per  all  was  vast,  still,  fragrant,  and  divine 

Of IfflV^*"""  ^"^''''oa'l  and  bright  and  high 

Of  gilded  bronze  and  carved  in  curious  guise  • 

Warriors  thereon  were  battling  furiouslv 

Here  stalks  the  victor,  there  the  vanquish'd  lies' 

There  captives  led  jn  triumph  droop  the  eye 
If  ^IL   '"  PS^Pf'ctive  many  a  squadron  flies.   ' 
It  seems  the  work  of  times  before  the  line 
Of  Rome  transplanted,  feU  with  Constanti'ne. 

This  massy  portal  stood  at  the  wide  close, 

SL*  rf ?.*'  ^.^"'  V^^  °"  ' ts  either  side 

W^«'«rf  "?^"^*^^  '^^*'  y""  •="»'d  suppose, 
fn«Ju'®''''^^."8'y '"''»•  as  if  allied   •  ' 

1?«??S-*^''^  *°  l^'^  enormous  gate  which  rosa 
O  «r  them  in  almost  pyramidic  pride. 


LOBD  BYRON. 


Ill 


'      CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Dispute  with  the  ambassador.— Reflections  on  Bvron's  pridft  of  rank  — 

I  Abandons  liis  Oriental   travels.— Re-embarks  "in  the  Saisette  —The 

dagger-scene.— Zea.— Returns  to  Athens.— Tour  in  the  Morea.— Dan- 

gerous    Illness.- Return  lo  Athens.— The   adventure  on  whidi  the 

Giaour  is  founded. 

Although  Lord  Byron  remaJaed  two  months  in  Constanti. 
hople,  -and  visited  every  object  of  interest  and  curiosity,  within 
bd  around  it,  he  yet  brought  away  with  him  fewer  poetical 
Irapressions  than  from  any  other  part  of  the  Ottoman  domi- 
lions;  at  least  he  has  made  less  use  in  his  works  of  what  ho 
aw  and  learned  there,  than  of  the  materials  he  coflected  in 
ptber  places. 

From  whatever  cause  it  arose,  the  self-abstraction  which  I 
had  noticed  at  Smyrna,  was  remarked  about  him  while  he  was 
In  the  capital,  and  the  same  jealousy  of  his  rank  was  so  ner. 
lously  awake,  that  it  led  him  to  attempt  an  obtrusion  on  the 
Ambassadorial  etiquettes— which  he  probably  regretted. 

It  has  grown  into  a  custom,  at  Constantinople,  when  the 
loreign  ministers  are  admitted  to  audiences  of  ceremony  with 
Ihe  sultan,  to  allow  the  subjects  and  travellers  of  their  respec 
live  nations  to  accompany  them,  both  to  swell  the  pomp  of  the 
Ipectacle,  and  to  gratify  their  curiosity.    Mr.  Adair,  our  am- 
lassador,  for  whom  the  Saisette  had  been  sent,  had  his  au- 
Hience  of  leave  appointed  soon  after  Lord  Byron's  arrival,  and 
bis  Lordship  was  particularly  anxious  to  occupy  a  station  of 
jiistinetion  in  the  procession.    The  pretension  was  ridiculotis 
I  Itself,  and  showed  less  acquaintance  with  courtly  ceremonies 
hap  might  have  been  expected  in  a  person  of  his  rank  and  in- 
elligence.    Mr.  Adair  assured  -him  that  he  could  obtain  no 
particiilar  place;  that  in  the  arrangements  for  the  ceremonial, 
Ny  the  persons  connected  with  the  embassy  could  be  con- 
Wdered,  and  that  the  Turks  neither  acknowledged  the  prece. 
puce,  nor  could  be  requested  to  consider  the  distinctions  of 
purnobihty.    Byron,  however,  still  persisted,  and  the  minister 
pas  obliged  to  refer  him  on  the  subject  to  the  Austrian  Inter. 
Puncio,  a  high  authority  in  questions  of  etiquette,  whose 
Ppmion  was  decided] v  ag-ainat  the  nrfiffinsJMn, 
I  The  pride  of  rank  was  indeed  one  of  the  greatest  weak. 
Jesses  of  Lord  Byron,  and  every  thing,  even  of  the  most  acci. 
pental  kmd,  which  seemed  to  come  between  the  wind  and  his 
pobihty,  was  repelled  on  the  spot.    I  recollect  having  some  de- 
■wte  with  hm  once  respecting  a  pique  of  etiquette,  which  hap. 


112 


THE  LIFE  OF 


pened  between  him  and  Sir  William  Drummdnd,  somewhere 
in  Portugal  or  Spain.  Sir  William  was  at  the  time  an  ambas- 
sador (not  however,  I  believe,  in  the  country  where  the  incident 
occurred,)  and  was  on  the  point  of  taking  precedence  in  pass- 
ing from  one  room  to  another,  when  Byron  stepped  in  before 
him.  The  action  was  undoubtedly  rude  on  the  part  of  hij 
Lordship,  even  though  Sir  William  had  presumed  too  far  on 
his  ribbon :  to  me  it  seemed  also  wrong ;  for,  by  the  custom  of 
all  nations  from  time  immemorial,  ambassadors  have  been  a). 
lowed  their  official  rank  in  passing  through  foreign  countries,  j 
while  peers,  in  the  same  circumstances,  claim  no  rank 
at  all ;  even  in  our  own  colonies  it  has  been  doubted  if  they 
may  take  precedence  of  the  legislative  counsellors.  But  the  I 
rights  of  rank  are  best  determined  by  the  heralds,  and  I  have 
only  to  remark,  that  it  is  almost  inconceivable  that  such 
things  should  have  so  morbidly  affected  the  sensibility  of  Lord 
Byron ;  yet  they  certainly  did  so,  and  even  to  a  ridiculous  de- 
gree. On  one  occasion,  when  he  lodged  in  St.  James's  street,  I 
recollect  him  ratii.g  the  footman  for  using  a  double  knock  in 
accidental  thoughtlessness. 

These  little  infirmities  are,  however,  at  most  only  calculated  I 
to  excite  a  smile,  there  is  no  turpitude  in  them,  and  ther 
merit  notice  but  as  indications  of  the  humour  of  character.  It 
was  his  Lordship's  foible  to  overrate  his  rank ;  to  grudge  hii 
deformity  beyond  reason ;  and  to  exaggerate  the  condition  of 
his  family  and  circumstances.  But  the  alloy  of  such  small 
vanities,  his  caprice  and  feline  temper,  were  as  vapour  com- 
pared with  the  mass  of  rich  and  rare  ore  which  constituted  the  | 
orb  and  nucleus  of  his  brilliancy. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  Constantinople,  when  a  change! 
came  over  his  intentions ;  the  journey  to  Persia  was  abandon- 
ed, and  the  dreams  of  India  were  dissolved.    The  particular  I 
causes  which  produced  this  change  are  not  very  apparent—  j 
but  Mr.  Hobhouse  was  at  the  same  time  directed  to  return 
home,  and  perhaps  that  circumstance  had  some  influence  on 
his  decision,  which  he  communicated  to  his  mother,  informing 
her,  that  he  should  probably  return  to  Greece.    As  in  that 
letter  he  alludes  to  his  embarrassment  on  account  of  remit- 
tances, it  is  probable  that  the  neglect  of  his  agent,  vvith  respect 
to  them,  was  the  main  cause  which  induced  him  to  determine  | 
on  going  no  farther- 

Accofdingly,  on  the  i4th  of  July,  he  embarked  with  Mr.  I 
Hobhouse  and  the  ambassador  on  board  the  Salsette.     It  was 
in  the  course  of  the  passage  to  the  island  of  Zea,  where  he  was 

frat  on  shore,  that  one  of  the  most  emphatic  incidents  of  his 
ife  occurred ;  an  incident  which  throws  a  remarkable  gleam 


LORD  BYRON.  113 

into  the  springs  and  intricacies  of  character — more,  pcrhapi, 
than  any  thing  which  has  yet  been  mentioned. 

One  day,  as  he  wts  walking  the  quarter-deck,  he  lifted  an 
ataghan  (it  might  be  one  of  the  midshipmen's  weapons,)  and 
unsheathing  it,  said,  contemplating  tlic  blade,  "  I  should  like  to 
know  how  a  person  feels  after  committing  mur^fer." — By  those 
who  have  inquiringly  noticed  the  extraordinary  cast  of  his 
metaphysical  associations,  this  dagger  scene  must  be  regarded 
as  both  impressive  and  solemn ;  although  the  wish  to  know 
how  a  man  felt  after  committing  murder,  does  not  imply  any 
desire  to  perpetrate  the  crime.  The  feeling  might  be  appre- 
ciated by  experiencing  any  actual  degree  of  guilt;  for  it  is  not 
the  deed — the  sentiment  which  follows  it,  makes  the  horror. 
But  it  is  doing  injustice  to  suppose  the  expression  of  such  a 
wish  dictated  by  desire.  Lord  Byron  has  been  heard  to  ex- 
press,  in  the  eccentricity  of  con\'ersation,  wishes  for  a  more 
intense  knowledge  of  remorse  than  murder  itself  could  give. 
There  ?s,  however,  a  wide  and  wild  difference  between  the 
curiosity  that  prompts  the  wish  to  know  the  exactitude  of  any 
feeling  or  idea,  and  the  direful  passions  that  instigate  to  guilty 
.gratifications. 

Being  landed,  according  to  his  request,  with  his  valet,  two 
Albanians,  and  a  Tartar,  on  the  shore  of  Zea,  it  may  be  easily 
conceived  that  be  saw  the  ship  depart  with  a  feeling  before 
unfelt  It  was  the  first  time  he  was  left  companionless,  and 
the  scene  around  was  calculated  to  nourish  stern  fancies,  even 
though  there  was  not  much  of  suffering  to  be  withstood. 

The  landing-place  in  the  port  of, Zea  I  recollect  distinctly. 
The  port  itself  is  a  small  land-locked  gulf,  or,  as  the  Scottish 
Highlander  would  call  it,  a  loch.  The  banks  are  rocky  and 
forbidding;  the  hills,  which  rise  to  the  altitude  of  mountains, 
have,  in  a  long  course  of  ages,  been  always  inhabited  by  a 
civilized  people.  Their  precipitous  sides  are  formed  into  innu. 
merable  artificial  terraces,  the  aspect  of  which,  austere,  ruinous, 
and  ancient,  produces  on  the  mind  of  the  stranger  a  sense  of 
the  presence  of  a  greater  antiquity  than  the  sight  of  monu. 
ments  of  mere  labour  and  art.  The  town  stands  high  upon 
the  mountain ;  I  counted  on  the  lower  side  of  the  road  which 
leads  to  it,  forty-i-.'ne  of  those  terraces  at  one  place  under  me, 
and  on  the  opposite  hills,  in  several  places,  upwards  of  sixty, 
vvliether  Lord  iiyron  ascended  to  the  town  is  doubtful.  I  have 
never  heard  him  mention  that  he  had ;  and  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  he  proceeded  at  once  to  Athens,  by  one  of  the  boata 
which  frequent  the  harbour. 

At  Athens  he  met  an  old  fellow^collegian,  the  Marquis  of 
Sligo,  with  whom  he  soon  after  travelled  ai  far  as  Corinth : 
k2 


114 


THE  11P2  OF 


fo™'^t•p"[r^tfeT  t  J"^"^  -"■»'  Byron  we,.. 

ed  for  his  adventurS  in  asTs'tinL  *h'        '^^'■•^'  so  celebrat- 
general  Lavalette.     He  t^i!    '"^  ^^^  ^''^^  "^  the  French 

which  I  had  occupied  L^eTnir""  ""^.'^^  '^P"*"^^"*^ 
home  during  the  remainZ  o?k"     ^'■:'';  ^"*^  """^^  them  his 

whenlretufned  JTZn^  inO^^^^^  '"  Greece;  bu 

«el^^  I  found,  howeve  ^Ts  Val?  rir/h  ^'  ^"^  "°*  *^««  him. 
Theri  is  no  verv  rii,  !'* '^^^^er,  m  possession. 

Wd  Byron  empI^^^dtmseiraX  ht  ^'^  """"^^  ^"  '^^-h 
various  intimations  in  hrcorr.«^  i  '^*"',"  to  Athens;  but 
the  winter  his  pen  was  not  die  TwS  f'"'  '""'l  '^"""^ 
gleet  an  important  occurrence  not  fn*-'  ^^T"^'"'  ^«  to  ne. 
time  when  he  was  at  Athens  a?onP  ♦.''''  *^*  **"""?  the 
afterwards  imbodied  in  the  imn„  '  ^l  '?"^^"*  ^^^ich  he 
Giaour  came  to  nags  •  in^  *     "npa^sioned  fragments  of  the 

is  founded  LaSadventur;  TTu^'  '^'^'^^^  "^^^  ^^e  ^to^y 

he  immediatel/ interfered  wiin  oat  1  w-"'^' ?«  ^^^^^^ 
servmg  some  hesitation  en  the  If ;  of  .^  ?'"?°" '  ^^''•'  «"  ob- 
to  return  with  him  to  t' 'e  Zin  '  V*"^  ^^f^^'"  ^^  the  escort 
and  threatened  to  shc^/hLTrsp^^^^^^^  ''7  ^  P'«H 
about,  and  accomparied  him  wi,^  l  "^  ™'^"  then  turned 
and  entreaty,  he  suSed  in  nt  • '  •'^^'"'  P"''"^  ^y  briberv 


tOHD  BYHON, 


115 


But  however  this  mo„  i,       , 

that  he  returned  to  /n^^^®"'  '^  ^^s  fortunate  for  hi.  r„ 

The  heat  oppressed  him  so  much  "Tt^  ^  ^''  constitution. 
Md  scarcely  had  he  reached  S„  K^  P°''^'^«  suiTerin" 
«^"  visaed  again  by  a  t^Sn  ^t'  °"  ^'^  ^^^  ^*>™«.  when  ife' 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Arrival  in  London— Mr  noiio». 

friendship.    ^'-  ^«-e.~TheK  meeting  at  ir."RoS?'/ru:^7«« 

i^M^  the  Middle  of  J„„ 

The  embarrassed  condition  !n„T-W  ""'"^  than  two  years' 
ficiently  explain,  the  deTee/l  a'^^  ^' ^'?""-'  hi«  affa^  a"?" 
was  afflicted  during  thSternar  A^v^'^e^'  ^'^^  which  Se 
j^dyet  it  was  not  fuch  as  ouitto  u?"  T^'''''^  ^»  G.^ice! 
'y.  nor  have  I  ever  bppn  oKi    f       °  "*^®  affected  him  so  Ha-^ 
Jtress  has  been^M  oTh^tlr ^7^ 
J^  to  it  and  to  his  rave  led  fo^,?n  ^"""^^^««ness.    In  reT^et 
^f  too  often  said;  ISd  r^e^?";.'' §^'^'^J  deal  too  muchC 
suffered  by  the  puling         '^'  ^^"^'"«««  ^^  h«  character  hw 

wll^wTsTut^att:5hr  *'?.^«  ^^^  -veral  friends  to 
belief  that,  had  hetotbtJwdr' 

reciprocal,  he  would  not  ha^e  1^- "*:?'^  the  attakment  was 

Withttem.    And  though  forhisTn'r^r  '^T' -"^  ^^'^"^^^ 

0  majntam  alMts  suitable  exhTbSn  "  Th?^'  ^f7"^  ^^^^  ^^J 

y  "^  ''"  ^''ject  of  compassion  or*  .7     '''''l^  ^°"^d  never 

noble,  whose  income  was  enonth  f        '^  «ympathv  an  English 

^  peers,  and  whose  ^veTtv^.V   """^^'^  ^'«  ^l^nity  a^ff 


■nonly  deemed  consistent  ^rt..'^™"'  """^ras  than  u  oZ 
••  ^'  "^  U.  rue  *e  o„n.a,„er-:r„=;Se  oSlS  t^t^ 


116 


TOTE  tllTR  OP 


'1' 


kiH: 


the  cause  u  ts  in  the  very  elomont  of  liia  nature.    It  was  u 
blemish  as  incurable  as  the  deformity  of  liis  foot. 

On  his  arrival  in  Londr.»n,  his  relation,  Mr.  Dallas,  called  on 
him,  and  in  the  course  of  in.»ir  first  brief  conversation  his  Lord, 
jihip  mentioned  that  lie  had  written  a  paraphrase  of  Horace's 
Art  oi'  Poetry,  but  said  nothing  then  of  Childe  Harold,  a  cir. 
cumstance  which  leads  mc  to  suspect  that  he  offered  him  the 
slighter  work  first,  to  enjoy  his  surprise  afterwards  at  the 
greater.  If  so,  the  result  answered  tlie  intent.  Mr.  Dallac 
carried  homo  with  him  tlio  paraphrase  of  Horace,  with  which 
he  was  grievously  disappointed ;  so  much  so,  that  on  meeting 
his  Lordsijip  again  in  the  morning,  and  being  reluctant  to  speaE 
'ofic  as  he  really  thought,  he  only  expressed  some  surprise  that 
his  noble  friend  should  have  produced  nothing  else  during  his 
•long  absence. 

I  can  easily  conceive  the  emphatic  indifference,  if  my  con. 
.^ecture  be  well  founded,  with  which  Lord  Byron  must  have  said 
to  him,  "  I  have  occasionally  written  short  poems,  besides  a 
great  many  stanzas  in  Spenser's  measure,  relative  to  the  coun. 
tries  I  have  visited  :  they  are  not  worth  troubling  you  with,  but 
you  shall  have  them  all  with  you,  if  you  like." 

Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimaif'  was  accordingly  placed  in  his 
hands  ;  Mr.  Dallas  took  it  home,  and  was  not  slow  in  discover, 
ing  its  beauties ;  for  in  the  course  of  the  same  evening  he  do- 
•apatched  a  note  to  his  Lordship,  as  fair  a  specimen  of  the  style 
of  an  elderly  patronising  gentleman  as  can  well  be  imagined : 
^'  You  have  written,"  said  he,  "  one  of  the  most  delightful 
poems  I  ever  read.  If  I  wrote  this  in  flattery,  I  should  deserve 
your  contempt  rather  than  your  friendsliip.  I  have  been  so 
fascinated  with  Childe  Harold,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  lay 
it  down ;  I  would  almost  pledge  my  life  on  its  advancing  the 
reputation  of  your  poetical  powers,  and  on  its  gaining  you  great 
honour  and  regard,  if  you  will  do  me  the  credit  and  favour  of 
attending  to  my  suggestions." 

For  some  reason  or  anoi ! t.  Lord  Byron,  ho'vever,  t'e.t  or 
feigned  great  reluctance  to  publish  Childe  Ha  /  i'"  :jly 
his  repugnance  was  dictated  by  diffidence,  not  witii  lespect  to 
its  merits,  but  from  a  consciousness  that  the  hero  of  the  poem 
exhibited  traits  and  resemblances  of  himself.  It  would  indeed 
be  injustice  to  his  judgment  and  taste,  to  suppose  he  was  not 

7,in<:ihlA    nP  tha    ciii»r>..:<^..Un    ^C   4l.n    t.^^^^^     ^-^J    «_ ^: X 

— ~    ■-••tj.i  1  i-.-iitj     \M     mu    IC13C     asiu    ciicigcili;   puvuv 

-  '.'•'.  irigirt.^ns  and  burns  in  every  stanza  of  the  pilgrimage, 
;u!  .uod  vth  the  loose  and  sprawling  lines,  and  dull  rhythm 
i}f  .:,  j'^iaphrase.  It  is  true  that  he  alleged  it  had  been  con- 
rfe  r.£  ff  by  a  good  itic — the  only  one  who  had  previously  seen 
it— -probably  Mr.  liobhouse,  who  was  with  him  during  the  timd 


LOUO  BYRON. 


117 


he  -mavrnUns  it ;  but  still  I  cannot  concei\  he  was  bo  blind 
to  excellence,  aa  to  prefer  in  sincerity  the  other  composition, 
which  was  only  an  imitation.  But  the  arg  uments  of  M ' .  Dalla* 
prevailed,  and  m  due  season  Childe  Harold  wp  prepared  for 
toO  press. 

•  '."  ^1  T"J!'?®  ^^^^®  ^^^^^y  engaged  in  his  literary  pro- 
jects  with  Mr.  Dul(as,  and  in  law  affairs  with  his  agent,  he  was 
suddenly  sPmn^oidd  ♦-  Newstead  by  the  state  of  his  mother's 
health :  '>  foid  he  rouuhed  the  Abbey  she  had  breathed  her  lasL 
The  evert  drenly  affected  him;  he  had  not  seen  her  since  his 
Khun,  and  t  presentiment  possessed  her  when  they  parted, 
that !  le  was  never  to  see  him  again. 

.  oiwithstanding  her  violent  temper  and  other  unseemly  con- 
duct, her  affeotion  for  him  had  been  so  fond  and  dear,  that  he 
undoubtedly  returned  it  with  unaffected  sincerity ;  and  from 
many  casual  and  incidental  expression*  which  I  have  heard 
him  employ  concerning  her,  I  am  persuaded  that  his  filial  love 
was  not  at  any  time  even  of  an  ordinary  kind.  During  her 
hfe  he  might  feel  uneasy  respecting  her,  apprehensive  on  ac- 
count of  her  ungovernable  passions  and  indiscretions,  but  the 
manner  m  which  he  lamented  her  death,  clearly  proves  that 
"»«  integrity  of  his  affection  had  never  been  impaired. 

On  the  night  after  his  arrival  at  the  Abbey,  the  waiting-wo- 
man  of  Mrs.  Byron  in  passing  the  door  of  the  room  where  the 
corpse  lay,  heard  the  sound  of  some  one  sighing  heavily  with- 
in, and  on  entering  found  his  Lordship  sitting  in  the  dark,  be- 
side the  bed.  She  remonstrated  with  him  for  so  giving  way  to 
grie^  when  he  bursted  into  tears,  and  exclaimed,  "  I  had  but 
one  friend  in  the  world,  and  she  is  gone."  Of  the  fervency  of 
his  sorrow  I  do  therefore  think  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  the  very 
endeavour  which  he  made  to  conceal  it  by  indifference,  was  a 
proof  of  Its  depth  and  anguish,  though  he  hazarded  the  stric- 
tures of  the  world  by  the  indecorum  of  his  conduct  on  the  occa^ 
won  of  the  funeral.— Having  declined  to  follow  the  remains 
h'rnself,  he  slood  JooKlng  from  the  hall-door  at  the  procession, 
t  J  t  n  whole  had  moved  away ;  and  then,  turning  to  one  of  the 
servants,  the  only  person  left,  he  desired  him  to  fetch  the  spar- 
nng.gloves,  and  proceeded  with  him  to  his  usual  exercise, 
fiut  the  scene  was  impressive,  and  spoke  eloquently  of  a  grieved 
heart;— he  sparred  in  silence  all  the  time,  and  the  servant 
thought  that  he  hit  harder  than  was  his  habit;  at  last  he  sud, 
acmy  uuug  -way  the  gloves  and  retired  to  his  own  room. 

As  soon  as  the  funeral  was  over  the  publication  of  Childe 
Harold  was  resumed,  hat  it  went  slowly  through  the  press.  In 
the  meantime  an  incident  occurred  to  him,  wh.ch  deserves  to 
pe  noted— because  it  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  in  his  life, 


118 


THE  LIFE   OP 


and  has  given  rise  to  consequences  affecting  his  fame — with 
advantage. 

In  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,  he  had  alluded, 
with  provoking  pleasantry,  to  a  meeting  which  had  taken  place 
at  Chalk  P  arm  some  years  before,  between  Mr.  Jeffrey,  the 
Edinburgh  Reviewer,  and  Mr.  Moore,  without  recollecting, 
indeed  without  having  heard,  that  Mr.  Moore  had  explained, 
through  the  newspapers,  what  was  alleged  to  have  been  ridi- 
<;ulous  in  the  affair.  This  revival  of  the  subject,  especially  as 
it  called  in  question  the  truth  of  Mr.  Moore's  statement,  obliged 
that  gentleman  to  demand  an  explanation ;  but  Lord  Byron  being 
abroad,  did  not  receive  this  letter,  and  of  course  knew  not  of 
its  contents;  so  that,  on  his  return,  Mr.  Moore  was  induced  to 
addresf  his  Lordship  again.  The  correspondence  which  en. 
sued  is  honourable  to  the  spirit  and  feelings  of  both. 

Mr.  Moore,  after  referring  to  his  first  letter,  restated  the  nature 
of  the  insult  which  the  passage  in  the  note  to  the  poem  was 
calculated  to  convey,  adding,  "  It  is  now  useless  to  speak  of 
the  steps  with  which  it  was  my  intention  to  follow  up  that 
letter,  the  time  which  has  elapsed  since  then,  though  it  has 
<done  away  neither  the  injury  nor  the  feeling  of  it,  has  in  many 
respects,  materially  altered  my  situation  ;  and  the  only  object  I 
have  now  in  writing  to  your  Lordship,  is  to  preserve  some  con., 
sistency  with  that  former  letter,  and  to  prove  to  you  that  the 
injured  feeling  still  exists,  however  circumstances  may  compel 
me  to  be  deaf  to  its  dictates  at  present.    When  I  say  *  injured 
feeling,'  let  me  assure  your  Lordship  that  there  is  not  a  single 
vindictive  sentiment  in  my  mind  towards  you;  I  mean  but  to 
express  that  uneasiness  under  what  I  consider  to  be  a  charge 
of  falsehood,  which  must  haunt  a  man  of  any  feeling  to  his 
grave,  unless  the  insult  be  retracted,  or  atoned  for ;  and  which, 
if  I  did  not  feel,  I  should  indeed  deserve  far  worse  than  your 
Lordship's  satire  could  inflict  upon  me."    And  he  concluded 
hy  saying,  that  so  far  from  being  influr-.ced  by  any  angry  or 
.resentful  feeling,  it  would  give  him  sincere  pleasure  if,  by  any 
eatisfactory  explanation,  his  Lordship  would  enable  him  to  seek 
Ihe  honour  of  being  ranked  among  his  acquaintance. 

The  answer  of  Lord  Byron  was  diplomatic  but  manly,  He 
declared  that  he  never  received  Mr.  Moore's  letter,  and  assured 
him  that  in  whatever  part  of  the  world  it  had  reached  him,  he 
•would  have  decmofi  it  his  duty  to  return  and  answer  it  in  ner« 
■eon ;  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  advertisement  to  which  Mr. 
Moore  had  alluded,  and  consequently  could  not  have  had  the 
slightest  idea  of  "  giving  the  lie"  io  an  address  which  he  had 
Jiever  seen.  "  When  I  put  my  name  to  the  production,"  said 
lus  Lordship,  "  which  has  occasioned  this  correspondence,  I 


lORD  BIJRON. 


119 


his  fame — with 


iswer  it  in  oer- 


l)ccame  responsible  to  all  whom  it  might  concern,  to  explain 
where  it  requires  explanation,  and  wJiere  insufficiently  o?  too 

f?r".  ^•"''^'^■f  ^'  ^^  '"  "^'""^^  *°  '^^''^y-'  '"y  «ituatioi leaves 
no  no  choice  ;  it  rests  with  tlic  injured  and  tlie  angry  to  ob- 

n'L«'^H  '  "  '"  "''''  °^"  r^-  ^^^^^^  ^"^ff^^d  to  the  passage 
m  question  yoa  were  certainly  «of  the  person  towards  whom  I 
felt  personally  hostile :  on  the  contrary,  my  whole  thought* 
we  c  engrossed  by  oiie  whom  I  had  reason  to  consider  as  my 
woist  literary  enemy;  nor  could  I  foresee  that  hLs.  former 
antagonist  was  about  to  become  his  champion.  You  do  not 
specity  what  you  would  wish  to  have  done.    I  can  neither 

iSced"  "^^  ^^'''  ^°'  *"  '^^'^'  ""^  ^^^''*^°°^  ^'^'^^  ^  ^^«'- 

lorlSn^^'  fll'  ^^°°'''  commenced  by  acknowledging  that  his 
onnflt^'  ''"er  was  upon  the  whole  as  satisflctory  as  he 
thfit^^Zn'r/:^^^'  "^^"'i^"^  '^  ^P^^ifi^  circumstances  in 

itYs  no  •  P'^f'^"^  ^f^''"'^  ^5'  "^^^  formulary  of  explanation,, 
1  b.?s?nn     %^V°•'"?•'/"^/"'•'^^"'•  advances.-"  We  Irishmen 

dedZTnVn  '^''/7^',  '"'^""^  ^"°^  ^"y  «^«^dium  between 
decided  hosihty  and  decided  friendship.  But  as  any  approaches 
toward  tlie  latter  alternative  must  now  depend  entirely  on  your 

iXr  ."^'rJ  Z  """'^  *°  ''i^"^^  *h^*  I  «^"  s'^tisficd  vvith  your 
npnni;  J,  k""  the  correspondence  would  probably,  with  most 
people,  have  been  closed ;  but  Lord  Byron's  sensibility  was  in- 
erasted",  and  would  not  let  it  rest.  According'.y,  on  tiie  foUow- 

Zn^^^^rV'T''"^'^  "^>"  ^^-^^  my  return  to  England,  my 
mtnd  Mr.  Hodgson  apprized  me  tliat  a  letter  for  me  was  in  his 

CTJT  'a     .^  '^?'"^'*'^  '^""*  ^"^^y^"g  "^e  from  London  im- 
mediately  after,  the  letter,  which  may  most  probably  be  your  own, 

L  L"n  "^^'''l.l,  ^'f  ^^T""^-  ^^'  '^^  examination  of  tl/e  address 

he  similarity  of  the  hand-writing  should  lead  to  such  a  conclu- 

s  on  It  siiall  be  opened  in  your  presence,  for  the  satisfaction  of 

aij  parties.  Mr.  U.  is  at  present  out  of  town;  on  Friday  I  shall 

rpLvH  ;  ^H  [T^'*  ^™  *°  ^"""^a^d  it  to  my  address.  With 
regard  to  the  latter  part  of  both  your  letters,  until  the  principal 
point  was  discussed  between  us,  I  felt  myself  at  a  loss  in  what 
P^n^^^""  f  """P^^-  .^^'  ^  *°  anticipate  friendship  from  one  who 
conceived  me  to  have  charged  him  with  falsehood  ?  were  not 

^rh\  l"?u  ''  '"''^'  circumstances  to  be  misconstrued,  not 
pernaps  bv  the  imrsnn  tn  ^.rUr^r,.  n.« jj ■  ... 

ocners.  In  rny  case  feuch  a  step  was  impracticable.  If  you. 
S?  vnrT'i''*  y°"''^^^  *°  ^"  ^^'^  °«'^"ded  person,  are  satisfied 
vinL^r  f  f  °  \T^  f'''  ''^'^"^^'  ^*  ^^'^  "ot  b«  difficult  to  con. 
mce  me  of  ,t.  My  situation,  as  I  have  before  stated,  leaves 
me  no  choice.    I  should  have  felt  proud  of  your  acquaintanc. 


'''fw'*'li 


■ik    itukiBtt  !i    r 


120 


THE  LIFE  OP 


i  had  d/elt  on  its  mLr r^gt''  ""'"  ''^  "^^""^'  '^  ^^^^^ 

felt  «nH  Tf  rj'^l  ™°'®  ^"**  ^  «^^"  '^ot  trouble  you  fiirther     I 
lelt,  and  still  feel,  very  much  flattered  by  those  oarts  nP  L, 

correspondence  which  held  out  the  mo^Lri^f  ^^JL  ^°^' 
happy  to  meet  ^?,  wL      T  ^"'^  ^.'".^'^  ^t'  ^  ^'^^W  be  most 

country  ^  to  be  matohed.  among  contemporaries  fn  any  age  or 

^^^t^^^^  ^e  -ty,  an. 

left  oS  wLT^'.W''''^''"''' '''y^  ^^  "  ^hi^^h  this  meeting 
nohI«;r  :.7.^;!'i''l'!^fl/  '•^"^^"Iber  to  have  marked  was  the 
manners"  and' "x^L'f"''  °«^"*^y'  "Jf  gentleness  of  his  voice  and 
WsTarked  kh:Hn„  T'  "^^T"^  "°^  *^^«  ^^^^^  attraction- 
ZtZthecn^^T\'^r^-^^'.  ^^"ff  in  mourning  for  his 
motner,  the  colour  as  well  of  his  dress,  as  of  his  elossv  curhns 
and  picturesque  hair,  gave  more  effect  to  the  ^re ^^^^^^^^^ 


LOHD  BTRON. 


121 


fi^S Tk  ^®^*"'^''  '"^  *^°  expression  of  which,  when  he 

jpoke  there  was  a  perpetual  play  oflively  thought:  thouXme! 
lancholy  was  their  habitual  character  when  in^repos^°V^^  "'" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Tiie  pubiication  of  ChSe  KSilts  "eSoSeffel"'""^ 
DuRTNG  the  first  winter  after  Lord  Bvron  had  returnp,1  <« 

cnaracter.  At  that  time  the  strongest  feeling  bv  which  hfiTrC 
peared  to  be  actuated  was  indignation  agaSst  a  wrker  i.^ 
jcurri  ous  publication,  called  the  Scourgffn  whiT  he  wa? 

£°/  aVhetfd"^  V"J"U^'f '^  n.align'it;,irct?ged  w"?h 
S'nnf  .  S  1™^  ^'?^^^^^  ^^^  illegitimate  son  of  a  murderer 
I  had  not  read  the  work ;  but  the  writer  who  could  mTke  such 
an  absurd  accusation,  must  have  been  stranfiXiZrant  nf 

f  hisT^nTbeT^ljr^  f".  ^^^^^  ^^  derivArS  iafs 
1  ^d  thn  h!'  J^^^""  ^T^  ^^'■°"  "mentioned  the  subject  to 
me,  and  that  he  was  consulting  Sir  Vickerv  Gibbs  with  \^ 
ntention  of  prosecuting  the  publisher  and^the  authoT  I  ad' 

„lV  ?  /^^:"^il*o  well-known  occurrences.  His  e-rand-im- 
PeeLt  ""f  Mr  Chaworth,  and  the  order  of  the  House  of 
Miss  tZ'"'^"'"  'ri^'"/"  °^  ^'«  grandfather's  marriage  wi°h 
and  niThH  "'°"i  *^'  ^^"'^  °f  ^^i«h  being  matter  of^hisTorv 
and  public  record,  superseded  the  necessity  of  any  proceed  n7 
Knowing  how  deeply  this  affair  agitated  h  m  a^  that  Hme  ^' 
was  not  surprised  at  the  sequestration  in  whiTh  he  held  hi- 
self-and  which  made  those  who  were  not  acS„ted  with  h^^^ 

The  chief  of  Lara  is  rotnm'i  again  - 

lift  hJ*l  '^  ^"""^  """'■'^  ^he  bounding  main  ?- 

llSi  /r  h'^  "?/°"  yo""?  «"c''  loss  to  know. 

Lord  of  himself  ;-that  heritage  of  woe. 

In  him  mexphcably  mix'd  apMar'd 

Much  to  be  loved  and  hated,  sought  and  fear'd 

Opinion  varying  o'er  his  hidden  lot,  * 

In  praise  or  raihng  ne'er  hii  name  forgot. 


iM^^ 


IWl   lA-i. 


122  THE  LIFE  OF 

His  silence  form'd  a  theme  for  others'  prate ; 
I  Thev  euess'd,  they  gazed,  they  fain  would  know  his  fate— 

What  had  he  been  ?  what  was  he,  thus  unknown, 
Who  walk'd  their  world,  his  lineage  only  known? 
A  hater  of  his  kind  ?  yet  some  would  say, 
With  them  he  could  seem  gay  amidst  the  gay  ; 
Bat  own'dthat  smile,  if  oft  observed  and  near 
Waned  in  its  mirth,  and  wither'd  to  a  sneer ; 
That  smile  might  reach  his  lip,  but  pass'd  not  by ; 
None  e'er  could  trace  its  laughter  to  his  eye: 
Yet  there  was  softness,  too,  in  its  regard, 
At  times  a  heart  is  not  by  nature  hard. 
But  once  perceived,  his  spirit  seem'd  to  hide 
Such  weakness  as  unworthy  of  its  pride. 
And  stretch'd  itself,  as  scorning  to  redeem 
One  doubt  from  others'  half-withheld  esteem ; 
in  seif-afflicted  penance  of  a  breast 
Which  tenderness  might  once  have  wrung  from  rest, 
In  vigilance  of  grief  that  would  compel 
The  soul  to  hate  for  having  loved  too  well. 
There  was  in  him  a  vital  scorn  of  all, 
As  if  the  worst  had  fall'n  which  could  befall. 
He  stood  a  stranger  in  this  breathing  world. 

An  erring  spirit  from  another  hurl'd  ; 

A  thing  of  dark  imaginings,  that  shaped 

By  choice  the  perils  he  by  chance  escaped. 
Such  was  Byron  to  common  observance  on  his  return.  I  re- 
collect one  niffht  meeting  him  at  the  opera.  Set mg  me  with 
rgentleman  whom  he  dfd  not  know,  and  to  whom  he  was  un. 
known,  he  addressed  me  in  Italian,  and  we  contxnued  to  con- 
veT«rfor  some  time  in  that  language.  My  friend,  who  m 
the  mean  while  had  been  observing  him  with  curiosity,  coi^ 
^ving  him  to  be  a  foreigner,  inquired  m  the  course  of  the 
evS  To  he  was,  remarking,  that  he  had  never  seen  a  man 
wUh  such  a  Cain-Uke  mark  on  the  forehead  bfore  alluding 
to  that  singular  scowl  which  struck  me  so  forcibly  when  I  first 
faw  him,  fnd  which  appears  to  have  made  a  stronger  impres- 
sion  upon  me  than  it  did  upon  many  others.  I  never,  m  tact, 
coiSdTercome  entirely  thrprejudice  of  the  first  imprcssion 
although  I  ought  to  have  been  gratified  by  the  i"e«dship  and 
confidence  with  which  he  always  appeared  d^«P°««d  to  trea^ 
me.  When  Childe  Harold  was  printed,  he  sent  me  a  quarto 
copy  before  the  publication.;  a  favour  and  distinction  I  hav 
always  prized ;  and  the  copy  which  he  gave  me  of  the  Bnde 
of  Abydos  was  one  he  had  prepared  for  a  new  edition,  and 
which  contains,  in  his  own  writing,  these  six  Imes  m  no  other 


copy. 


Bless'd-as  the  Muezzin's  strain  froijrt  Mecca's  wall 

To  pilgrims  pure  and  prostrate  at  his  call, 

Soft-aB  the  melody  of  youthful  days 

That  steals  the  trembling  tear  of  speechless  praise. 

Sweet— as  his  native  song  to  exile's  ears 

Shall  sound  each  tone  thy  long  loved  voice  endeani. 


LORD  BYRON. 


isa 


He  had  not,  it  is  true,  at  the  period  of  which  I  am  speaking, 
gathered  much  of  his  fame ;  but  the  gale  was  rismg— and 
tliough  the  vessel  was  evidently  yielding  to  the  breeze,  she  was 
neither  crank  nor  unsteady.  On  the  contrary,  the  more  he 
became  an  object  of  public  interest,  the  less  did  he  indulge  his 
capricious  humour.  About  the  time  when  the  Bride  of  Abydos 
was  published,  he  appeared  disposed  to  settle  into  a  consistent 
character— especially  after  the  first  sale  of  Newstead.  Before 
that  particular  event,  he  was  often  so  disturbed  in  his  mind, 
that  he  could  not  conceal  his  unhappiness,  and  frequently 
spoke  of  leaving  England  for  ever. 

Although  few  men  were  more  under  the  impulses  of  passion 
than  Lord  Byron,  there  was  yet  a  curious  kind  of  management 
about  him,  which  showed  that  he  was  well  aware  how  much  of 
the  world's  favour  was  to  be  won  by  it.  Long  before  Childe 
Harold  appeared,  it  was'  generally  known  that  he  had  a  poem 
in  the  press,  and  various  surmises  to  stimulate  curiosity  were 
circulated  concerning  it :  I  do  not  say  that  these  were  by  his 
orders,  or  under  his  directions ;  but  on  one  occasion  I  did  fancy 
that  I  could  discern  a  touch  of  his  own  hand  in  a  paragraph  in 
the  Morning  Post,  in  which  he  tfvas  mentioned  as  having  re- 
turned from  an  excursion  into  the  interior  of  Africa;  and  when 
I  alluded  to  it,  my  suspicion  was  confirmed  by  his  embarrass. 

ment.  .  . 

I  mention  this  incident  not  in  the  spirit  of  detraction ;  form 
the  paragraph  there  was  nothing  of  putF,  though  certainly 
something  of  oddity— but  as  a  tint  of  character,  indicative  of 
the  appetite  for  distinction  by  which,  about  this  period,  he  be- 
came so  powerfully  incited,  that  at  last  it  grew  into  a  diseased 
crave,  and  to  such  a  degree,  tl  at  were  the  figure  allowable,  it 
might  be  said,  the  mouth  being  incapable  of  supplying  adequate 
means  to  appease  it — every  pore  became  another  mouth  greedy 
of  nourishment.  I  am,  however,  hastening  on  too  fast.  Lord 
Byron  wss,  at  that  time,  far  indeed  from  being  ruled  by  any 
such  inordinate  passion  ;  the  fears,  the  timidity,  and  bashful- 
ness  of  young  desire  still  clung  to  him,  and  he  was  throbbing 
with  doubt  if  he  should  be  found  worthy  of  the  high  prize  for 
which  he  was  about  to  offer  himself  a  candidate,  "ihe  course 
he  adopted  on  the  occasion,  whether  dictated  by  management, 
or  tha  effect  of  accident,  was,  however,  well  calculated  to  attract 

nHn^il^^    4^   l»;«    jJlhttf    go    a    rkiiW^P    mJin. 

When  Childe  Harold  was  ready  for  publication,  he  deter- 
mined to  make  his  first  appearance  as  an  orator  in  the  House 
of  Lords  :  the  occasion  was  judicioualy  chosen,  being  a  debate 
on  the  Nottingham  frame-brcaking  bill ;  a  subject  on  which  it 
waa  natural  to  suppose  he  possessed  some  local  knowledge  that 


124 


THE  LIFE  OP 


might  bear  upon  a  question  directed  so  exclusively  against 
transactions  in  his  own  counly.  He  prepared  himself,  Ss  the 
best  orators  do  m  their  first  es^mys,  not  only  by  composinff,  but 
writing  down,  the  whole  of  hi«  speech  beforehand.  The  re 
ception  he  met  with  was  flattering;  he  was  complimented 
warmly  by  some  of  the  speakers  on  his  own  side;  but  it  must 
be  confessed  that  his  rf^6u«  was  more  showy  than  promising. 
It  lacked  weight  m  metal,  as  was  observed  at  the  time,  and 
the  mode  of  delivery  was  more  like  a  schoolboy's  recital  than 
a  masculine  grapple  with  an  argument.  It  was,  moreover, 
fu  of  rhetorical  exaggerations,  and  disfigured  with  conceits! 
fetill  It  scintillated  with  talent,  and  justified  the  opinion  that  he 
was  an  extraordinary  young  man,  probably  destined  to  distinc 
tion,  though  he  might  not  be  a  statesman. 

•  « Vifu*"^  f  ^f  /  l'''^'^  ''•'^*"^"*  ""^  his  elation  on  the  occa- 
sion.  "When  he  left  the  great  chamber,"  says  that  gentleman, 

I  went  and -met  him  in  the  passage;  he  was  glowing  with 
success,  and  much  agitated.  I  had  an  umbrella  in  m?  riffht 
hand,  not  expecting  that  he  would  put  out  his  hand  to  me ;  in 

^Zu^}?  -^u^  '*  '^^^'^  °^^'"^^'  ^  'i^d  advanced  my  left  hand: 
What!  said  he  'give  your  friend  your  left  hand  upon  such 
an  occasion  ?'  I  showed  the  cause,  and  immediately  changine 
the  umbrella  to  the  other,  I  gave  him  my  right  hand,  which 
he  shook  and  pressed  warmly.  He  was  greatly  elated,  and  re. 
peated  some  of  the  compliments  which  had  been  paid  him,  and 
mentioned  one  or  two  of  the  peers  who  had  desired  to  be  in. 
troduced  to  him.  He  concluded  by  saying,  that  he  had,  by  his 
pirrhna^^I""  "^^  ^^^  ^^^  advertisement  for  Childe  Harold's 

It  is  upon  this  latter  circumstance,  that  I  have  ventured  to 
state  my  suspicion,  that  there  was  a  degree  of  worldly  man. 
agement  m  making  his  first  appearance  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
so  immediately  preceding  the  publication  of  his  poem  The 
speech  was,  indeed,  a  splendid  advertisement;  but  the  greater 
and  brighter  merits  of  the  poem,  soon  proved  that  it  was  not 
requisite ;  for  the  speech  made  no  impression,  but  the  poem  was 
at  once  hailed  with  delight  and  admiration.  Itfilled  a  vacancy 
m  the  public  mind,  which  the  excitement  and  inflation  arising 
trom  the  mighty  events  of  the  age,  had  created.  The  world,  in 
Its  condition  and  circumstances,  was  -repared  to  receive  a 

WOrK.  so  oriflfinnl.  vin-n»'oiio     nr^A   1 i:^'.i  .   _._j    ^i 

was  such  that  there  was  no  undue  extravagance  in  the  noble 
author  saying  m  his  memorandum,  "  I  awoke  one  morning 
and  found  myself  famous." 

But  he  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  revel  in  such  triumphant 
success  with  impunity.    If  the  great  spirits  of  the  time  were 


LORD  BYRON. 


125 


■mitten  with  astonishment  at  the  splendow  of  the  rising  fire^ 
the  imps  and  elves  of  malignity  and  malice  fluttered  their  bat- 
wmgs  in  all  directions.  Those  whom  the  poet  had  afflicted  in 
his  satire,  and  who  had  remained  quietly  crouching  with  lace- 
rated  shoulders  in  the  hope  that  their  flagellation  would  be  for- 
gotten, and  that  the  avenging  demon  who  had  so  punished  their 
imbecility,  would  pasc  away,  were  terrified  from  their  obscurity. 
They  came  like  moths  to  the  candle,  and  sarcasms  in  the  satire 
which  had  long  been  unheeded,  in  the  belief  that  they  would 
soon  be  forgotten,  were  felt  to  have  been  barbed  with  irremedi- 
able venom,  when  they  beheld  the  avenger 

Towering  in  his  pride  of  place . 


e  one  morning 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Sketches  of  charncter.— His  friendly  dispositions.— Introduce  Prince  K 

to  him.-Our  last  interview.-His  continued  kindness  towards  me — 
Instance  of  it  to  one  of  my  friends. 

For  some  time  after  the  publication  of  Childe  Harold,  the 
noble  author  appeared  to  more  advantage  than  I  ever  afterwards 
saw  him.  He  was  soothed  by  success;  and  the  universal  ap- 
plause which  attended  his  poem  seemed  to  make  him  tliink 
morekmdly  of  the  world,  of  which  he  has  too  often  complained, 
whil3  It  would  be  difficult  to  discover,  in  his  career  and  fortunes, 
that  he  had  ever  received  any  cause  from  it  to  iustify  his  com- 
plamt.  •' 

At  no  time,  I  imagine,  could  it  be  said  that  Lord  Byron  was 
one  of  those  men  who  interest  themselves  in  the  concerns  of 
others.    He  had  always  too  much  to  do  with  his  own  thoughts 
about  himself,  to  aflx)rd  time  for  the  consideration  of  aught  that 
was  lower  in  his  affections.    But  still  he  had  many  amiable 
hts;  and  at  the  particular  period  to  which  I  allude,  he  evinced 
a  consfancy  in  the  disposition  to  oblige,  which  proved  how 
litUe  self-control  was  wanting  to  have  made  him  as  pleasant  as 
ne  was  uniformly  interesting.    I  felt  this  towards  myself,  in  a 
matter  which  had  certainly  the  grace  of  condescension  in  it,  at 
*7,f  ^P®^s®  of  some  trouble  to  him.     I  then  lived  at  the  corner 
ot  Bndge-street,  Westminister,  and  in  ffoinjr  to  thn  HnusA  nf 
i^ros  he  frequently  stopped  to  inquire'if  I  wanted  a  frank. 
His  conversation,  at  the  same  time,  was  of  a  milder  vein,  and 
witb  the  single  exception  of  one  day,  while  dining  together  at 
we  fet.  AJban'fl,  it  was  light  and  playful,  as  if  gaiety  had  be- 
come Its  habitude.  ^      J 
l2 


%i'm 


126 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Perhaps  I  regarded  him  too  curiously,  and  more  than  once 
it  struck  me  that  he  thoupfht  so.  For  at  times,  when  he  was  in 
his  comfortless  moods,  he  has  talked  of  his  affairs  and  perplexi- 
ties  as  if  I  had  been  much  more  acquainted  with  them  than  I 
had  any  opportunity  of  being.  But  he  was  a  subject  for  study, 
such  as  is  rarely  met  with — at  least,  he  was  so  to  me ;  for  his 
weaknesses  were  as  interesting  as  his  talents,  and  he  often  in- 
dulged  in  expressions  which  would  have  been  blemishes  in  the 
reflections  of  other  men,  but  which  in  him  often  proved  the 
germs  of  philosophical  imaginings.  He  was  the  least  qualified 
for  any  sort  of  business  of  all  men  I  have  ever  known;  so 
skinless  in  sensibility  as  respected  himself,  and  so  distrustfiil 
in  his  universal  apprehensions  of  human  nature,  as  respected 
others.  It  was,  indeed,  a  wild,  though  a  beautiful  error  of  na- 
ture, to  endow  a  spirit  with  such  discerning  faculties,  and  yet 
render  it  unfit  to  deal  with  mankind.  But  these  reflections 
belong  more  properly  to  a  general  estimate  of  his  character, 
than  to  the  immediate  purpose  before  me,  which  was  princi- 
paiiy  to  dericribe  the  happy  effects  which  the  splendid  reception 
of  Childe  Harold  had  on  his  feelings ;  effects  which,  however, 
did  not  last  long.  He  was  gratified  to  the  fulness  of  his  hopes; 
but  the  adulation  was  enjoyed  to  excess,  and  his  infirmities 
were  aggravated  by  the  surfeit.  I  did  not,  however,  see  the 
progress  of  the  change,  as  in  the  course  of  the  summer  I  went 
to  Scotland,  and  soon  after  again  abroad.  But  on  my  return,  in 
the  following  spring,  it  was  very  obvious. 

I  found  him,  in  one  respect,  greatly  improved;  there  was 
more  of  a  formed  character  about  him ;  he  was  evidently,  at 
the  first  glance,  more  mannered,  or  endeavouring  to  be  so,  and 
easier  with  the  proprieties  of  his  rank ;  but  he  had  risen  in 
his  own  estimation  above  the  honours  so  willingly  paid  to  his 
genius,  and  was  again  longing  for  additional  renown.  Not 
content  with  being  acknowledged  as  the  first  poet  of  the  age, 
and  a  respectable  orator  in  the  House  of  Lords,  he  was  aspiring 
to  the  eclat  of  a  man  of  gallantry  :  ungracious  peculiarities  of 
his  temper,  though  brought  under  better  discipline,  were  again 
in  full  activity. 

Considering  how  much  he  was  then  caressed,  I  ought  to 
have  been  proud  of  the  warmth  with  which  he  received  me. 
I  did  not,  however,  so  often  see  him  as  in  the  previous  year ; 
for  I  was  then  on  the  eve  of  my  marriage,  and  I  should  not  so 
soon,  after  my  return  to  London,  have  probably  renewed  my 
visits ;  but  a  foreign  nobleman  of  the  highest  rank,  who  had 
done  me  the  honour  to  treat  me  as  a  friend,  came  at  that  June- 
ture  to  this  country,  and  knowing  I  had  been  acquainted  with 
Lord  Byron,  he  requested  me  to  introduce  him  to  his  Lordship' 


LORD  BYHON. 


127 


nore  than  once 
vhen  he  was  in 
s  and  perplexi. 
th  them  than  I 
bject  for  study, 

to  me ;  for  his 
.nd  he  often  in- 
leniishes  in  the 
\en  proved  the 
s  least  quaUiied 
ver  known;  so 
d  so  distrustful 
re,  as  respected 
ful  error  of  na- 
culties,  and  yet 
lese  reflections 
'  his  character, 
ch  ^as  princi. 
endid  reception 
^hich,  however, 
3s  of  his  hopes; 

his  infirmities 
)wever,  see  the 
lummer  I  went 
1  ray  return,  in 

red;  there  was 
IS  evidently,  at 
tg  to  be  so,  and 
e  had  risen  in 
igly  paid  to  his 
renown.  Not 
poet  of  the  age, 
le  was  aspiring 
peculiarities  of 
ine,  were  again 

3ed,  I  ought  to 
le  received  me. 
previous  year ; 
I  should  not  so 
iy  renewed  my 
rank,  who  had 
le  at  that  jonc- 
cquainted  with 
a  his  Lordship' 


This  rendered  a  visit  preliminary  to  the  introduction  neces- 
sary,  and  so  long  as  my  distinguished  friend  remained  in 
town,  we  agam  often  met.  But  after  he  left  the  country,  mv 
visits  became  few  and  far  between;  owing  to  nothing  but  that 
change  in  a  man's  pursuits  and  associates  which  are  amonff 
lu"f  ^.u  ?  ^""''^  of  matrimony.  It  is  somewhat  remarkable, 
that  of  the  last  visit  I  ever  paid  him,  he  has  made  rather  a  par* 
ticular  memorandum.  I  remember  well,  that  it  was  in  many 
respects  an  occasion  not  to  be  at  once  forgotten;  for,  amonff 
other  things,  after  lighter  topics,  he  explained  to  me  a  variety 
of  tribulations  in  his  affairs,  and  I  urged  him,  in  consequence, 
to  marry,  with  the  frankness  which  his  confidence  encouraffed ; 
Bubjoming  certain  items  of  other  good  advice  concerninff  a 
Imison  which  he  was  supposed  to  have  formed,  and  which  Mr. 
Moore  does  not  appear  to  have  known,  though  it  was  much 
talked  of  at  the  time. 

During  that  visit  the  youthful  peculiarities  of  his  temper  and 
character  showed  all  their  original  blemish.  But,  as  usual, 
when  such  was  the  case,  he  was  often  more  interesting  than 
wfien  in  his  discreeter  moqds.  He  gave  me  the  copy  of  the 
Bride  of  Abydos,  with  a  very  kind  inscription  on  it,  which  I 
liave  already  mentioned;  but,  still  there  was  an  impression  on 
my  mmd  that  led  me  to  believe  he  could  not  havp  been  very 
weU  pleased  with  some  parts  of  my  counselling.  This,  how- 
ever,  appears  not  to  have  been  the  case;  on  the  contrary,  the 
tone  of  his  record  breathes  something  of  kindness ;  and  long 
after  I  received  different  reasons  to  believe  his  recollection  of 
me  was  warm  and  friendly. 

When  he  had  retired  to  Genoa,  I  gave  a  gentleman  a  letter 
to  him,  partly  that  I  might  hear  something  of  his  real  way  of 
life,  and  partly  in  the  hope  of  gratify  ing  my  friend  by  the  sight 
of  one  of  whom  he  had  heard  so  much.  The  reception  from 
his  Lorcship  was  flattering  tome;  and,  as  the  account  of  it 
contains  what  I  think  a  characteristic  picture,  the  reader  will, 
1  doubt  riot,  be  pleased  to  see  so  much  of  it  as  may  be  made 
public  without  violating  the  decorum  which  should  always  be 
observed  m  describing  the  incidents  of  private  intercourse, 
when  the  consent  of  all  parties  cannot  be  obtained  to  the  pub- 


"  Dear  Gait.  ««  rdinh,. 

1  hough  1  shall  always  retain  a  lively  general  recollection  of 
my  agreeable  interview  with  Lord  Byron,  at  Genoa,  in  May,  1823, 
80  long  a  time  has  since  elapsed  that  much  of  the  aroma  of  the 
pleasure  has  evaporated,  and  I  can  but  recall  generalities.  At 
that  tune  there  was  an  impression  in  Genoa  that  he  was  averse 


128 


THE  LIFE  OP 


-i    l' 


'm  't 


to  receive  visits  from  Englishmen,  and  I  was  indeed  advised 
not  to  think  of  calling  on  him,  as  I  might  run  the  risic  of 
meeting  with  a  savage  reception.  However,  I  resolved  to  send 
your  note ;  and,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  the  messenger 
brought  a  most  polite  answer,  in  whicl.,  after  expressing  the 
satisfaction  of  hearing  of  his  old  friend  and  fellow-traveller, 
he  added  that  he  would  do  himself  the  honour  of  calling  on 
me  next  day,  which  he  accordingly  did;  but  owing  to  the  of- 
ficious  blundering  of  an  Italian  waiter,  who  mentioned  I  vi^as 
at  dinner,  his  Lordship  sent  up  his  card  with  his  compliments 
that  he  would  not  deranger  the  party.  I  was  determined,  how- 
ever, that  he  sliould  not  escape  me  in  this  way,  and  drove  cut 
to  his  residence  next  morning ;  when,  upon  his  English  valet 
taking  up  my  name,  I  was  immediately  admitted 

"As  every  one  forms  a  picture  to  hiihaelf  of  remarkable 
characters,  I  had  depicted  his  Lordship  in  my  mind  as  a  tall, 
sombre,  Childe  Harold  personage,  tinctured  somewhat  with 
aristocratic  hauteur.  You  may  therefore  guess  my  surprise 
when  the  door  opened,  and  I  saw  leaning  upon  the  lock,  a  light 
animated  figure,  rather  petite  than  otherwise,  dressed  in  a  nan- 
neen  hussar-braided  jacket,  trowsers  of  the  saiiC  material, 
with  a  white  waistcoat;  his  countenance  pale,  bat  the  com- 
plexion clear  and  healthful,  with  the  hair  coming  down  in  lit- 
tle curls  on  each  side  of  his  fine  forehead. 

"  He  came  towards  me  with  an  easy  cheerfulness  of  manner, 
and  after  some  preliminary  inquiries  concerning  yourself,  we 
entered  into  a  conversation  which  lasted  two  hours,  in  the 
course  of  which  I  felt  myself  perfectly  at  ease,  from  his  Lord- 
ship's natural  and  simple  manners ;  indeed  so  much  so,  that 
forgetting  all  my  anticipations,  I  found  myself  conversing  with 
him  in  as  fluent  an  intercourse  of  mind  as  I  ever  experienced, 
even  with  yourself. 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  at  present  to  undertake  a  detail  of 
what  passed ;  but  as  it  produced  a  kind  of  scene,  I  may  mention 
one  incident. 

"  Having  remarked,  that  in  a  long  course  of  desultory  read- 
ing, I  had  read  most  of  what  had  been  said  by  English  travel- 
lers concerning  Italy;  yet,  on  coming  to  it,  I  found  there  was 
no  country  of  which  I  had  less  accurate  notions :  that  among 
other  things  I  was  much  struck  with  the  harshness  of  the  lan- 
guage. He  seemed  to  jerk  at  this,  and  immediately  observed, 
that  perhaps  in  going  so  rapidly  through  the  country,  I  might 
not  have  had  many  opportunities  of  hearing  it  politely  spoken. 
*  Now,'  said  he,  '  there  are  supposed  to  be  nineteen  dialef5ts  of 
the  Italian  language,  and  I  shall  let  you-  hear  a  lady  speak  the 
principal  of  them,  who  is  considered  to  do  it  very  well.'  I  pricked 


LORD  BYRON. 


129 


up  my  ears  at  hearing  this,  as  I  considered  it  would  afford  me 
an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  far-famed  Countess  Guiccioli. 
His  Lordship  immediately  rose  and  left  the  apartment,  return, 
ing  in  the  course  of  a  minute  or  two  leading  in  t/ie  lady,  and 
while  ar-angmg  chairs  for  the  trio,  he  said  to  me,  '  i  shall  make 
her  speak  each  of  the  principal  dialects ;  but  you  are  not  to  mind 
how  I  pronounce,  for  I  do  not  speak  Italian  well.'  After  the 
scene  had  been  performed  he  resumed  tome,  'now  what  do 
you  think  ?'  To  which  I  answered,  that  my  opinion  still  re- 
•Gained  unaltared.  He  seemed  at  this  to  fall  into  a  little  re  tv, 
and  then  said  abruptly, '  Why  'tis  very  odd ;  Moore  though,  the 
same.  Does  yc«u-  Lordship  mean  Tom  Moore  ?'  '  Yes!'  •  -Ui 
then,  my  Ix)rd,  I  shall  adhere  with  more  pertinacity  to  mv 
opinion,  when  I  hear  that  a  man  of  his  exquisite  taste  in  poetry 
and  harmony  was  also  of  that  opinion.' 

"You  will  be  asking  what  I  thought  of  the  lady  ;  I  had  cer- 
tainly heard  much  of  her  high  personal  attractions,  but  all  I 
can  say  is,  that  in  my  eyes  her  graces  did  not  rank  above  me- 
diocrity.   They  were  youth,  plumpness,  and  good-nature.'* 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  miff  with  Lord  Byron.-Remarkable  coincidenceB—Plagiarisms  of  bis 

Lordship. 

There  is  a  curious  note  in  the  memoranda  which  Lord  Byron 
kept  m  the  year  1813,  that  I  should  not  pass  unnoticed,  because 
u  reters  to  myself,  and  pioreover  is  characteristic  of  the  exco- 
riated sensibility  with  which  his  Lordship  felt  every  thing  that 
touched  or  affected  him  or  his.  -^        s 

When  I  had  read  the  Bride  of  Abydos,  I  wrote  to  him  my 
opinion  of  It,  and  mentioned  that  there  was  a  remarkable  coin- 
cidence  in  the  story,  with  a  matter  in  which  I  had  been  inter- 
ested.  I  have  no  copy  of  the  letter,  and  I  forget  the  expressions 
employed;  but  Lord  Byron  seemed  to  think  they  implied  that 
ne  had  taken  the  story  from  something  of  mine. 

The  note  is : 

.  1\  ^^^^  says  there  is  a  coincidence  between  thn  first  par*  "** 
ihe  Bride'  and  some  story  of  his,  whetlier  published  or  not. 
i  Know  not,  never  having  seen  it.  He  is  almost  the  last  person 
on  Whom  any  one  would  commit  literary  larceny,  and  I  am  not 
conscious  of  any  witUng  thefts  on  any  of  the  genus.  As  to 
wigmality,  all  pretensions  are  ludicrous ;  there  is  nothing  new 
waer  the  sun."  , 


130 


THE  LIFE  OP 


i;'  .    I 


It  is  sufficiently  clear  that  he  was  offended  with  what  I  had 
said,  and  was  somewhat  excited.  I  have  not  been  able  at  pre- 
sent  to  find  his  answer  to  my  letter ;  but  it  would  appear  by  the 
subjoined  that  he  had  written  to  me  something  which  led  me 
to  imagine  hu  was  offended  at  my  observations,  and  that  I  had 
in  consequeace  deprecated  his  wrath. 

"  My  dear  Gait,  "  Dec.  11, 1813. 

"  There  was  no  offence — there  could  be  none.  I  thought  it 
by  no  means  impossible  that  we  might  have  hit  on  something 
similar,  particularly  as  you  are  a  dramatist,  and  was  anxious 
to  assure  you  of  the  truth,  viz.,  that  I  had  not  wittingly  seized 
upon  plot,  sentiment,  or  incident ;  and  I  am  very  glad  that  I 
have  not  in  any  respect  trenched  upon  your  subjects.  Some- 
thing still  more  singular  is,  that  i\\Q  first  part,  where  you  have 
found  a  coincidence  in  some  events  within  your  observations  on 
life^  was  drawn  from  observation  of  mine  also,  and  I  meant  to 
have  gone  on  with  the  story,  but  on  second  thoughts,  I  thought 
layH^K  two  centuries  at  least  too  late  for  the  subject;  which, 
though  admitting  of  very  powerful  feeling  and  description,  yet 
is  not  adapted  for  this  age,  at  least  this  country.  Though  the 
finest  works  of  the  Greeks,  one  of  Schiller's  and  Alfien's,  in 
modern  times,  besides  several  of  our  old  (and  best)  dramatists, 
have  been  grounded  on  incidents  of  a  similar  cast,  I  therefore 
altered  it  as  you  perceive,  and  in  so  doing  have  weakened  the 
whole,  by  interrupting  the  train  of  thought ;  and  in  composition 
I  do  not  think  second  thoughts  are  the  best,  though  second  ex- 
pressions may  improve  the  first  ideas. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  other  men  feel  towards  those  they  have 
met  abroad  ;  but  to  me  there  seems  a  kind  of  tie  established  be- 
tween all  who  have  met  together  in  a  foreign  country,  as  if  we 
had  met  in  a  state  of  pre-existence,  and  were  talking  over  a  life 
that  has  ceased ;  but  I  always  look  forward  to  renewing  my 
travels  ;  and  though  you,  I  think,  are  now  stationary,  if  I  can 
at  all  forward  your  pursuits  there  as  well  as  here,  I  shall  be 
truly  glad  in  the  opportunity. 

Ever  yours  very  sincerely,  B. 

"  P.  S.  I  believe  I  leave  town  for  a  day  or  two  on  Monda^» 
but  after  that  I  am  always  at  home,  and  happy  to  see  you  till 
haif-past  two.'' 

This  letter  was  dated  on  Saturday,  the  11th  of  September, 
1813.  On  Sunday  the  12th,  he  made  the  following  other  note 
in  his  memorandum  book : 

"  By  Gait's  answer,  I  find  it  is  some  story  in  real  life,  and^ 


LORD  BYRON. 


lai 


re,  I  shall  be 


not  any  work  with  which  my  late  composition  coincides.    It  it 
still  more  singular,  for  mine  is  drawn  from  existence  also.** 

The  most  amusinc;  part  of  this  little  fracas  is  tho  denial  of 
his  Lordship,  as  to  pilfering  the  thoughts  and  fancies  of  others; 
for  it  so  happens,  that  the  first  passage  of  the  Bride  of  Abydos, 
the  poem  in  question,  is  almost  a  literal  and  unacknowledged 
translation  from  Goethe,  which  was  pointed  out  in  some  of  the 
penodicals  soon  after  the  work  was  published. 

Then,  as  to  his  not  thieving  from  mo  or  mine,  I  believe  tho 
fact  to  be  as  he  has  stated ;  but  there  are  singular  circumstances 
connected  with  some  of  his  otlier  productions,  of  which  the  ac- 
count is  at  least  curious. 

On  leaving  England  I  began  to  write  a  poem  in  the  Spense- 
rian measure.  It  was  called  The  Unknown,  and  was  intend- 
ed to  describe,  in  narrating  the  voyages  and  adventures  of  a 
pilgrim,  who  had  embarked  for  the  Holy  Land,  the  scenes  I 
expected  to  visit.  I  was  occasionally  engaged  in  this  compo- 
sition during  the  passage  with  Lord  Byron  from  Gibraltar  to 
Malta,  and  he  knew  what  1  was  about.  In  stating  this,  I  beg 
to  be  distinctly  understood,  as  in  no  way  whatever  intending  to 
insinuate  that  this  work  had  any  influence  on  the  composition 
of  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  which  Lord  Byron  began  to 
write  in  Albania;  but  it  must  be  considered  as  something  extra- 
ordinary,  that  the  two  works  should  have  been  so  similar  in  plan, 
and  in  the  structure  of  the  verse.  His  Lordship  never  saw  my 
attempt  that  I  know  of,  nor  did  I  his  poem  until  it  was  printed. 
It  is  needless  to  add,  that,  beyond  the  plan  and  verse  there 
was  no  other  similarity  between  the  two  works ;  I  wish  there 
had  been. 

His  Lordship  has  published  a  poem,  called  The  Curse  of 
Minerva,  the  subject  of  which  is  the  vengeance  of  the  goddess 
on  Lord  Elgin  for  the  rape  of  the  Parthenon.  It  has  so  hap- 
pened,  that  I  wrote,  at  Athens,  a  burlesque  poem  on  nearly  the 
same  subject,  (mine  relates  the  vengeance  of  all  the  gods,) 
which  I  called  The  Atheniad ;  the  manuscript  was  sent  to  his 
Lordship  in  Asia  Minor,  and  returned  to  me  through  Mr.  Hob- 
house.  His  Curse  of  Minerva,  I  saw  for  the  first  time  in  1828, 
in  Galignani's  edition  of  his  works. 

In  the  Giaour,  which  he  published  a  short  time  before  the 
Bride  of  Abydos,  he  has  this  passage,  descriptive  of  the  anxiety 
with  which  the  motiic^r  of  Hassan  looks  out  for  the  arrival  of 
her  son : 


The  browsing  camels'  bells  are  tinkling— 
His  mother  iook'd  fVom  her  lattice  high ; 

She  saw  the  dews  of  eve  besprinkling 
Thti  parterre  green  beneath  her  eye : 


• ». 


133  THE  LIFE  OF 

She  saw  the  planets  faintly  twinkling— 

'Tis  twilight— sure  his  train  is  nigh. 
She  could  not  rest  in  the  garden  bower, 
But  gazed  through  the  grate  of  his  steepest  tower 
Why  conies  he  not— and  his  steeds  are  fleet— 
Nor  shrink  they  from  the  summer  heat? 
Why  sends  not  the  bridegroom  his  promised  gift  ? 
Is  his  heart  more  cold,  or  his  barb  less  swift  ? 

Ilis  Lordship  was  well  read  in  the  Bible,  and  the  book  of 
Judges,  chap.  5th,  and  verse  28,  has  the  following  passage : 

"  The  mother  of  Sisera  looked  out  at  a  window,  and  cried 
through  the  lattice,  Why  is  his  chariot  so  long  in  coming; 
why  tarry  the  wheels  of  his  chariot  ?" 

It  was,  indeed,  an  early  trick  of  his  Lordship  to  filch  good 
things.  In  the  lamentation  for  Kirke  White,  in  which  he  com 
pares  him  to  an  eagle  wounded  by  an  arrow  feathered  from  his 
own  wing,  he  says, 

So  the  struck  eagle,  stretch'd  upon  the  plain, 
No  more  through  rolling  clouds  to  soar  again, 
View'd  his  own  feather  on  the  fatal  dart, 
And  wing'd  the  shaft  that  quiver'd  in  his  heart. 

The  ancients  have  certainly  stolen  the  best  ideas  of  the  mo- 
derns ;  this  very  thought  may  be  found  in  the  works  of  that 
ancient-modern,  Waller : 

That  eagle's  fate  and  mine  are  one. 

Which  on  the  shaft  that  made  him  die, 
Espied  a  feather  of  his  own 

Wherewith  he  wont  to  soar  on  high. 

His  Lordship  disdained  to  commit  larceny  on  me ;  and  no 
doubt  the  following  passage  from  the  Giaour  is  perfectly 
original : 

It  is  as  if  the  dead  could  feel 
The  icy  worm  around  them  steal ; 
And  shudder,  as  the  reptiles  creep 
To  revel  o'er  their  rotting  sleep. 
Without  the  power  to  scare  away 
The  cold  consumers  of  their  clay. 

I  do  not  claim  any  paternity  in  these  lines :  but  not  the 
most  judicious  action  of  all  my  youth,  was  to  publish  certain 
dramatic  sketches,  and  his  Lordship  had  the  printed  book  in 
his  possession  long  before  the  Giaour  was  published,  and  ma; 
have  read  the  following  passage  in  a  dream,  which  was  in- 
tended to  be  very  hideous : 

Tiien  did  I  hear  around 

The  churme  and  chirruping  of  busy  reptiles 
At  hideous  banquet  on  the  royal  dead : — 
Pull  soon  methought  the  loathsome  epicures 
Came  thick  on  me,  and  underneath  my  shroud 
I  felt  the  many-foot  and  beetle  creep, 
And  on  my  breast  the  cold  worm  coil  and  crawJ 


LORD  BYRON. 


133 


However,  I  have  said  quite  enough  on  this  subject,  both  as 
respects  niyself  and  his  seeming  plagiarismw,  which  might 
be  multiplied  to  legions.  Such  occasional  accidental  imita- 
ticms  are  not  tilings  of  much  importance.  All  poets,  and 
authors  in  general,  avail  themselves  of  their  reading  and  know- 
ledge to  enhance  the  interest  of  their  works.  It  can  only  be 
considered  as  one  of  Lord  Byron's  spurts  of  spleen,  that  he  felt 
80  much  about  a  "  coincidence,"  which  ought  not  to  have  dis- 
turbed  him ;  but  it  may  be  thought,  by  the  notice  taken  of  it» 
that  it  disturbs  myself  more  than  it  really  does;  and  that  it 
would  have  been  enough  to  have  merely  said — Perhaps,  when 
some  friend  is  hereafter  doing  as  indulgently  for  me,  the  same 
kind  of  task  that  I  have  undertaken  for  Byron,  there  may  be 
found  among  my  memoranda  notes  as  little  flattering  to  his 
Lordship,  as  thosp  in  his  concerning  me.  I  hope,  however, 
that  friend  will  have  more  respect  for  my  memory  than  to  imi- 
tate the  taste  of  Mr.  Moore. 


\.-i 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Lord  Byron  in  1813.— The  lady's  tragedy.— Miss  Milbanke.—Cfrowhw 
uneasiness  of  Lord  Byron's  mind.— The  friar's  ghost.— The  marriage. 
—A  member  of  the  Drury-lane  committee.— Embarrassed  affairs.— The 
separation. 

The  year  1813  was,  perhaps,  the  period  of  all  Lord  Byrwi's 
life  in  which  he  was  seen  to  the  most  advantage.  The  fame 
of  Childe  Harold  was  then  in  its  brightest  noon ;  and  in  that 
year  he  produced  the  Giaour  and  the  Bride  of  Abydos — com- 
positions  not  only  of  equal  power,  but  even  tinted  with  superior 
beauties.  He  was  himself  soothed  by  the  full  enjoyment  of 
his  political  rank  and  station ;  and  though  his  manners  and 
character  had  not  exactly  answered  to  the  stern  and  stately 
imaginations  which  had  been  formed  of  his  dispositions  and 
appearance,  still  he  was  acknowledged  to  be  no  common  man, 
and  his  company,  in  consequence,  was  eagerly  courted. 

It  forms  no  part  of  the  plan  of  this  work  to  repeat  the  gossip 
and  tattle  of  private  society;  but  occurrences  happened  to 
Lord  Byron  which  engaged  both,  and  some  of  them  cannot 
well  be  passed  over  unnoticed.  One  of  these  took  place  during 
uie  spring  of  this  year,  and  having  been  a  subject  of  news- 
paper remark,  it  may  with  less  impropriety  be  mentioned  than 
others  which  were  more  indecorously  made  the  topics  of 
general  discussion.  The  incident  alluded  to,  was  an  extrava- 
gant scene  enacted  by  a  lady  of  high  rank,  at  a  rout  given  by 
M 


134 


THE  LIFE  OP 


il  1 


"'  f''W|-. 


ill 


Lady  Heathcoate ;  in  which,  in  revenge,  as  it  was  reported, 
for  having  been  rejected  by  Lord  Byron,  she  made  a  suicidal 
attempt  with  an  instrument,  which  scarcely  penetrated,  if  it 
could  even  inflict  any  permanent  mark  on,  the  skin. 

The  insane  attachment  of  this  eccentric  lady  to  his  Lordship 
was  well  known :  insane  is  the  only  epithet  that  can  be  applied 
to  the  actions  of  a  married  woman,  who,  in  the  disguise  of  her 
page,  flung  herself  to  a  man,  who,  as  she  told  a  friend  of  mine, 
was  ashamed  to  be  in  love  with  her  because  she  was  not 
beautiful — an  expression  at  once  curious  and  just,  evincing  a 
shrewd  perception  of  the  springs  of  his  Lordship's  conduct, 
and  the  acuteness,  blended  with  frenzy  and  talent,  which  dis. 
tinguished  herself.  Lord  Byron  unquestionably  at  that  time 
cared  little  for  her.  In  showing  me  her  picture,  some  two  or 
three  days  after  the  affair,  and  laughing  at  the  absurdity  of  it, 
he  bestowed  on  her  the  endearing  diminutive  of  vixen,  with  a 
hard-hearted  adjective  that  I  judiciously  omit. 

The  immediate  cause  of  this  tragical  flourish  was  never  very 
well  understood ;  but  in  the  course  of  the  evening  she  had  made 
several  attempts  to  fasten  on  his  Lordship,  and  was  shunned: 
certain  it  is,  she  had  not,  like  Burke  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
premeditatedly  brought  a  dagger  in  her  reticule,  on  purpose 
for  the  scene  ;  but,  seeing  herself  an  object  of  scorn,  she  seized 
the  first  weapon  she  could  find — some  said  a  pair  of  scissors- 
others  miore  scandalously,  a  broken  jelly-glass,  and  attempted 
an  incision  of  the  jugular,  to  the  consternation  of  all  the  dowa- 
gors  and  the  pathetic  admiration  of  every  Miss,  who  witnessed 
or  heard  of  the  rapture. 

Lord  Byron  at  the  time  was  in  another  room,  talking  with 

Prince  K ,  when  Lord  P came,  with  a  face  full  of 

consternation,  and  told  them  what  had  happened.  The  cruel 
poet,  instead  of  being  agitated  by  the  tidings,  or  standing  in 
the  smallest  degree  in  need  of  a  smelling-bottle,  knitted  his 
scowl,  and  said,  with  a  contemptuous  indifference,  "  It  is  only  a 
trick."  All  things  considered,  he  was  perhaps  not  uncharitable; 
and  a  man  of  less  vanity  would  have  felt  pretty  much  as  his 
Lordship  appeared  to  do  on  the  occasion.  The  whole  affair 
was  eminently  ridiculous  ;  and  what  increased  the  absurdity 
was  a  letter  she  addressed  to  a  friend  of  mine  on  the  subject, 
and  which  he  thought  too  good  to  be  reserved  only  for  his  own 
particular  study. 

it  was  xii  this  year  that  Lord  Byron  first  proposed  for  Miss 
MUbanke;  haying  been  urged  by  several  of  his  friends  to 
marry,  that  lady  was  specially  recommended  to  him  for  a  wife. 
It  has  been  alleged,  that  he  deeply  resented  her  rejection  of  his 
proposal ;  and  I  doubt  not,  in  the  first  instance,  his  vanity  may 


liORD   BYRON. 


135 


ss,  who  witnessed 


have  been  a  little  piqued ;  but  as  he  cherished  no  very  animated 
attachment  to  her,  and  moreover,  as  she  enjoyed  no  celebrity 
in  public  opinion  to  make  the  rejection  important,  the  resent- 
ment was  not,  I  am  persuaded,  either  of  an  intense  or  vindictive 
kind.  On  the  contrary,  he  has  borne  testimony  to  the  respect 
in  which  he  held  her  character  and  accomplishments  ;  and  an. 
incidental  remark  in  his  journal,  "  I  shall  be  in  love  with  her 
again,  it'  I  don't  take  care,"  is  proof  enough  that  his  anger 
was  not  of  a  very  fierce  or  long-lived  kind. 

The  account  ascribed  to  him  of  his  introduction  to  Miss 
MilbanKe,  and  the  history  of  their  attachment,  ought  not  to  be 
omitted,  because  it  serves  to  illustrate,  in  some  degree,  the  state 
of  his  feelings  towards  her,  and  is  so  probable,  that  I  doubt 
not  it  is  in  the  main  correct. 

"  The  first  time  of  my  seeing  Miss  Milbanke  was  at  Lady 
*»**'s.  It  was  a  fatal  day  ;  and  I  remember,  that  in  going  up 
stairs  I  stumbled,  and  remarked  to  Moore,  who  accompanied 
me,  that  it  was  a  bad  omen.^  I  ought  to  have  taken  the  warn- 
ing. On  entering  the  room,  I  observed  a  young  lady  more 
simply  dressed  than  the  rest  of  the  assembly,  sitting  alone  upoa 
a  sofa.  1  took  her  for  a  female  companion,  and  asked  if  I  was 
right  in  my  conjecture  ?  '  She  is  a  great  heiress,'  said  he  in  a. 
whisper,  that  became  lower  as  he  proceeded,  '  yoii  had  better 
marry  her,  and  repair  the  old  place,  Newstead.' 

"  There  was  something  piquant,  and  what  we  term  pretty, 
in  Miss  Milbanke.  Her  features  were  small  and  feminine, 
though  not  regular.  She  had  the  fairest  skin  imaginable^ 
Her  figure  was  perfect  for  her  height,  and  there  was  a  sim- 
plicity, a  retired  modesty  about  her,  which  was  very  charac- 
teristic, and  formed  a  happy  contrast  to  the  cold  artificial 
formality,  and  studied  stiffness,  which  is  called  fashion.  She 
interested  me  exceedingly.  I  became  daily  more  attached  to 
her,  and  it  ended  in  my  making  her  a  proposal  that  was  re- 
jected. Her  refusal  was  couched  in  terms  which  could  not 
oiFend  me.  I  was,  besides,  persuaded,  that  in  declining  my 
offer,  she  was  governed  by  the  influence  of  her  mother ;  and 
was  the  more  confirmed  in  my  opinion,  by  her  reviving  our 
correspondence  herself  twelve  months  after.  The  tenour  of 
Iier  letter  was,  that  although  she  could  not  love  me,  she  desired 
my  friendship.  Friendship  is  a  dangerous  word  for  young 
ladies ;  it  is  love  full-fledired»  and  waitin''  for  a  fine  day  to  flv?" 

But  Lord  Byron  possessed  these  sort  of  irrepressible  predi- 
lections— was  so  much  the  agent  of  impulses,  that  'le  could  not 
keep  long  in  unison  with  the  world,  or  in  harmony  with  his 
friends  Without  malice,  or  the  instigation  of  any  ill  spirit, 
he  was  continually  provoking  malignity  and  revenge     Hift 


133 


THE  LIFE  OF 


mm.. 


versej  on  the  Princess  Charlotte  weeping-,  and  his  other  merci. 
less  satire  on  her  father,  begot  him  no  friends,  and  armed  the 
hatred  of  his  enemies.  There  was,  indeed,  something  like  in- 
gratitude  in  the  attack  on  the  Regent;  for  his  Royal  Highness 
had  been  particularly  civil ;  had  intimated  a  wish  to  have  him 
introduced  to  him ;  and  Byron,  fond  of  the  distinction,  spoke 
of  it  with  a  sense  of  gratification.  These  instances,  as  well  as 
others,  of  gratuitous  spleen,  only  justified  the  misrepresenta- 
tions  which  had  been  insinuated  against  himself;  and  what  was 
humour  in  his  nature,  was  ascribed  to  vice  in  his  principles. 

Before  the  year  was  at  an  end,  his  popularity  was  evidently 
beginning  to  wane :  of  this  he  was  conscious  himself,  and 
braved  the  frequent  attacks  on  his  character  and  genius  with 
an  affectation  of  indifference,  under  which  those  who  had  at 
all  observed  the  singular  associations  of  his  recollections  and 
ideas,  must  have  discerned  the  symptoms  of  a  strange  disease. 
He  was  tainted  with  an  Herodian  malady  of  the  mind :  his 
thoughts  were  often  hateful  to  himself;  but  there  was  an 
ecstasy  in  the  conception,  as  if  delight  could  be  mingled  with 
horror.  I  think,  however,  he  struggled  to  master  the  fatality, 
and  that  his  resolution  to  marry  was  dictated  by  an  honourable 
desire  to  give  hostages  to  society,  against  the  wild  wilfulness 
of  his  imagination. 

It  is  a  curious  and  a  mystical  fact,  that  at  the  period  to 
which  I  am  alluding,  and  a  very  short  time,  only  a  little  month, 
before  he  successfully  solicited  the  hand  of  Miss  Milbanke, 
being  at  Newstead,  he  fancied  that  he  saw  the  ghost  of  the 
monk  which  is  supposed  to  haimt  the  abbey,  and  to  make  its 
ominous  appearance  when  misfortune  or  death  impends  over 
the  master  of  the  mansion. — The  story  of  the  apparition  in  the 
sixteenth  canto  of  Don  Juan  is  derived  from  this  family  legend ; 
and  Norman  Abbey,  in  the  thirteenth  of  the  same  poem,  is  a 
rich  and  elaborate  description  of  Newstead. 

After  his  proposal  to  Miss  Milbanke  had  been  accepted,  a 
considerable  time,  nearly  three  months  elapsed  before  the  mar- 
riage  was  completed,  in  consequence  of  the  embarrassed  con- 
dition in  which,  when  the  necessary  settlements  were  to  be 
made,  he  found  his  affairs.  This  state  of  things,  with  the 
previous  unhappy  controversy  with  himself,  and  anger  at  the 
world,  was  ill-calculated  to  gladden  his  nuptials  :  but,  besides 
these  real  evils,  his  mind  was  awed  with  gfloomy  prrsfintimfints. 
a  shadow  of  some  advancing  misfortune  darkened  his  spirit, 
and  the  ceremony  was  performed  with  sacrificial  feelings,  and 
those  dark  and  chilling  circumstances,  which  he  has  so  touch< 
ingly  described  in  the  Dream : 


his  other  merci. 
,  and  armed  the 
mething  like  in- 
Royal  Highness 
ish  to  have  him 
istinction,  spoke 
ances,  as  well  as 
I  misrepresenta. 
if;  and  what  was 
his  principles. 
;y  was  evidently 
us  himself,  and 
nd  genius  with 
ose  who  had  at 
ecollections  and 
strange  disease, 
the  mind:  his 
there  was  an 
le  mingled  with 
ter  the  fatality, 
y  an  honourable 
wild  wilfulness 

it  the  period  to 
y  a  little  month, 
^iss  Milbanke, 
he  ghost  of  the 
.nd  to  make  its 
1  impends  over 
pparition  in  the 
family  legend ; 
ame  poem,  is  a 

een  accepted,  a 
before  the  mar- 
ibarrassed  con- 
nts  were  to  be 
lings,  with  the 
d  anger  at  the 
s :  but,  besides 
nrfisentiments. 
3ned  his  spirit, 
U  feeli-gs,  and 
e  has  so  touch. 


_  -  ,         1  saw  him  stand 

Before  an  altar  with  a  gentle  bride; 

Her  face  was  fair,  but  was  not  that  which  made 

riie  starlight  of  his  boyhood :— aS  he  stood 

Even  at  the  altar,  o'er  his  brovt  there  came 

The  selfsame  aspect,  and  the  quivering  shock 

That  in  the  antique  oratory  shook 

His  bosom  in  its  solitude ;  and  f  hen— 

As  in  that  hour— a  moment  o'er  bis  face 

The  tablet  of  unutterable  thoughts 

Was  traced— and  then  it  faded  as  it  came, 

And  he  stood  calm  and  quiet,  and  he  ypoke 

The  laltering  vows,  but  heard  not  his  own  words. 

And  all  things  reeled  around  him:  he  could  see 

Not  that  vvhich  was,  nor  that  which  should  have  been— 

cut  the  old  mansion  and  the  accustom'd  hall 

And  the  remembered  chambers,  and  the  place, 

The  day,  the  hour,  the  sunshine  and  the  shade, 

A   iu  "^^  pertaining  to  that  place  and  hour 

And  her.  who  was  with  his  destiny,  came  back, 

And  thrust  themselves  between  him  and  the  light. 

Thia  is  very  affectingly  described ;  and  his  prose  description 
bears  testimony  to  its  correctness.  "  It  had  been  predicted  by 
Mrs.  Williams,  that  twenty-seven  was  to  be  a  dangerous  age 
for  me.  The  fortune-telling  witch  was  right ;  it  was  destined 
to  prove  so.  I  shall  never  forget  the  2d  of  January,  1815;  Lady 
Byrcn  was  the  only  unconcerned  person  present ;  Lady  Noel, 
her  mother,  cried ;  I  trembled  like  a  leaf,  made  the  wrong  re, 
sponses,  and  after  the  ceremony  called  her  Miss  Milbanke. 

"  There  is  a  singular  history  attached  to  the  ring.  The  very 
day  the  match  was  concluded,  a  ring  of  my  mother's,  that  had 
been  lost,  was  dug  up  by  the  gardener  at  Newstead.  I  thought 
it  was  sent  on  purpose  for  the  wedding ;  but  my  mother's  mar- 
nage  had  not  been  a  fortunate  one,  and  this  ring  was  doomed 
to  be  the  seal  of  an  unhappier  union  still. 

"  Af»er  the  ordeal  was  over,  we  set  off  for  a  country-seat  of 
bir  Ralph's  (Lady  B's.  father,)  and  I  was  surprised  at  the  ar- 
rangements  for  the  journey,  and  somewhat  out  of  humour,  to 
fand  the  lady's-maid  stuck  between  me  and  my  bride.  It  was" 
rather  too  early  to  assume  the  husband ;  so  I  was  forced  t(i 
submit,  but  it  was  not  with  a  very  good  grace.  I  have  been 
accused  of  saying,  on  getting  into  the  carriage,  that  I  had  mar- 
ried  Lady  Byron  out  of  spite,  and  because  she  had  refused  me 
twice.  Though  I  was  for  a  moment  vexed  at  her  prudery,  or 
wiiatcver  you  may  choose  to  call  it,  if  I  had  made  so  uncavalier, 
not  to  say  brutal  a  speech,  I  am  convinced  Lady  Byron  would 
instantly  have  left  the  carriage  to  me  and  the  maid.  She  had 
JP"t^"o"gh  to  have  done  so,  and  would  properly  have  resented 
the  affront.  Our  honeymoon  was  not  all  sunshine ;  it  had  its 
clouds. 

m2 


Vi>  ::f 


|.  5 


188 


THE  LIFE  OP 


fl.«fi  u  ^°  7.°""^  "^^^^  "^3^  ^'^ther  died,  but  that  I  per. 

fectly  remember  h.m   w.d  had  a  very  early  horror  of  matri. 
mony,  from  the  sight  of  domestic  broils :  this  feeling  came  over 
me  very  strongly  at  my  wedding.    Something  whispered  me 
that  1  was  seahng  my  own  death-warrant.    I  am  a  ^reat  be 
hever  m  presentiments;  Socrates's  demon  was  not  a  fiction; 

Attt  ^^r'    "^  ? T  '"°''/i°r'  ^"'^  ^^P°^«°»  "^^y  warnings 
At  the  iast  moment  I  would  have  retreated,  could  I  have  done 

^n;,n/L  .V  .""'"f  ^  ?'"^  °^  "'^"«'  ^h°  ^ad  married  a 
young  beautiful,  and  rich  girl,  and  yet  was  miserable  :  he  had 
strongly  urged  me  against  putting  my  neck  in  the  same  yoke." 
J-or  some  time  after  the  marriage  things  went  on  in  the 
twual  matrimonial  routine,  until  he  was  chSsen  into  the  mn 
tSZTT'tt  ^l^'^'y-^T^  -«  office  in  which,  had  he^ 

Z.  n,    »f  ^'^''^f  *  t'^'"'  °^  *^'""*  ^«^  b"«in^««.  he  might  hC 
done  much  good.    It  was  justly  expected  th  ^  the  Sliterate 

presumption  which  had  so  long  deterred  poetical  genius  from 

Z'Tf/°£'^-.f '?',r"^\*'^"^  shrunk  abashed  from  befor™ 
him,  but  he  either  felt  not  the  importance  of  the  duty  he  had 

been  called  to  perform,  or  what  is  more  probable,  yieVing  to 

menfwhrhT/-^T"^'^t  ^^^^°^  ^^*  ^"t^'  '^  the  amfs^ 
S«;Lr  tS  '^^^^"Te**  ^-om  the  talents  and  peculiarities  of  the 
players.    No  situation  could  be  more  unfit  for  a  man  of  his 

with  persons  whose  profession,  almost  necessarily,  leads  them 
to  undervalue  the  domestic  virtues. 

after  he7o?n.'^A  ^^^  '°"  •'"  °^  "^">*°  ^^'^^^  ^^  ^^^  drawn 
alter  he  joined  the  managmg  committee  of  Brurv-lane  was  not 

in  unison  with  the  methodical  habits  of  Lady  Byron      Bu 

lTnItSv^r-'°"  'r'V  -nnubial^disSnt^d 

ircofiit!"'*'™^^'  ^'"^  '°™^^^^^  ^^'^^  --'^  f^«"? 

"  My  income  at  this  period,"  says  Lord  Byron,  "  was  small 

P±rha"d''i'"^''"-  y''  '^^^  ^^°"^^  ^"^-»  ff-Xnei 
nf^^l  separate  carnages,  arid  launched  into  every  sort 
f ho,!  T^"*"''^-  ^^'^  *^°"^d  not  last  long ;  my  wife's  ten 
thousand  pounos  soon  melted  away.   I  was  befet  by  duns,  and  a° 

ahlp  !JL%  J  •''^  ^^^  *°  '^^^P  °"-  This  was  no  very  agree- 
whn.l!     of  affairs,  no  very  pleasant  scene  for  Lady  ByrSn  to 

tmr;.r.'iirj„!F!^^^^^  P^y^e^  fatir'a  visit 

ron^«  ,„:*r -.'rr.iuvcr,  auu  some  arrangement  had  been 

Tet^n^d  .""I  creditors."  From  this  visit  her  Ladyship  never 
i!  r.  i '  t/^P^'^^t^on  took  place ;  but  too  much  hi  been  said 

w£tevrL'?h^  •''"^  ^>  ^"^  '  ^^^«  "°  ^«t«  for  the  subject. 
Whatever  was  the  immediate  cause,  the  event  itself  was  not 

V, 


LOBD  BYBON. 


189 


interfering  with  a  relationship   of  wWchTht  f'l^^K? 
means  of  judging.  It  does  nnf  in^oLT  ^°  possible 

bed  by  phvsLl  forrl  h!ff  ''fV      ^  '^'"^^  ^  "'^^  *°  «-  woman's 

[  mulge  all  their  propensities  in  secret."  ''^  ""^-ureiy 

i  tohavfstateTthl'*''  '^}''^''f'^on  in  which  he  is  represented 

^irP^^^^l^S^:!:^  respect  to  his 
opSs   Si  w?,h  "^,^^^\«^^"'^'.  particularly  as  to  religious 

IremainedTn  fb«  ?     .    "^^'"-^  ,^^'  J"^*  married,  to  have 

Ihefcontlct  with  thZ'V?7i,'°  ^''°^^^*^'  ^^d  I  ^r^-ded 
labouf  mo?  r  5-     ®™'    ^"^  ^  ^^ve  too  much  of  my  mother 

Artificial  regulations :  my  conduct  has  always  been  die- 


'     hi 


m 


140 


THE   LIFE   OP 


tated  by  my  own  feelings,  and  Lady  Byron  was  quite  the  crea 
ture  of  rules.  She  was  not  permitted  either  to  ride,  or  run,  w 
walk,  but  as  the  physician  prescribed.  She  was  not  suffered  to 
go  out  when  I  wished  to  go :  and  then  the  old  house  was  a  mere 
ghost-house.  I  dreamed  of  ghosts,  and  thought  of  them  waking! 
It  was  an  existence  I  could  not  support !"  Here  Lord  Byron 
broke  off  abruptly,  saying,  "  I  hate  to  speak  of  my  family  af- 
fairs, though  I  have  been  compelled  to  talk  nonsense  concern- 
ing them  to  some  of  my  butterfly  visiters,  glad  on  any  terms  to 
get  rid  of  their  importunities.  I  long  to  be  again  on  the  moun. 
tains.  I  am  fond  of  solitude,  and  should  never  talk  nonsense, 
if  I  always  found  plain  men  to  talk  to." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Reflection  on  his  domestic  verses.— Consideration  of  his  works.— Tin  I 
Corsair.— Probabilities  of  the  character  and  incidents  of  the  story.   On  I 
the  difference  between  poetical  invention  and  moral  experience  ■  illus- 
trated by  tlie  difference  between  the  genius  of  Siiakspeare  and  that  of 
Byron.  ' 

The  task  just  concluded  may  disappoint  the  expectations  of 
some  of  my  readers,  but  I  would  rather  have  said  less  than  so 
much,  could  so  little  have  been  allowed ;  for  I  have  never  been 
able  to  reconcile  to  my  notions  of  propriety,  the  exposure  off 
domestic  concerns  which   the  world   has  no  right  claim  to 
know,  and  can  only  urge  the  plea  of  curiosity  for  desiring  to  seel 
explained.     The  scope  of  my  undertaking  comprehends  onljl 
the  public  and  intellectual  character  of  Lord  Byron ;  everjj 
word  that  I  have  found  it  necessary  to  say  respecting  his  pri.f 
vate  affairs  has  been  set  down  with  reluctance  ;  nor  should  I 
have  touched  so  freely  on  his  failings,  but  that  the  conse-l 
quences  have  deeply  influenced  his  poetical  conceptions.        I 

There  is,  however,  one  point  connected  with  his  conjugall 
differences  which  cannot  be  overlooked,  nor  noticed  withonti 
animadversion.  He  was  too  active  himself  in  bespeaking  tl»| 
public  sympathy  against  his  lady.  It  is  true  that  but  for  thatl 
error  the  world  might  never  have  seen  the  verses  written  by  hiiii| 
on  the  occasion  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  the  friends  who  were  abouJ 

Ilim    nf  iha    fim/>    Tiyliri    z"..-./.!,*    ^Ul„a..  4—    U_    Ul 1     c 1 :..' 

-—  — rrifu-   vrtt^iii   v-Iiiciij   lu    uc    uiiiiiiKU    lur    liav:::; 

given  them  circulation  :  but  in  saying  this,  I  am  departing  firom. 
the  rule  I  had  prescribed  to  myself,  while  I  ought  only  tohm 
remarked  that  the  compositions  alluded  to,  both  the  lare-thee- 
well,  and  the  Anathema  on  Mrs.  Charlemont,  are  splendid  coil 
i-dboratioos  of  the  metaphysical  fact  which  it  is  the  main  object 


LORD  BYRON. 


141 


ofth's  work  to  illustrate,  namely,  that  Byron  was  onlyoriffinal 
and  truly  great  when  he  wrote  from  the  dictates  of  his  own 
breast,  and  described  from  the  suggestions  of  tilings  he  had 
seen.     When  his  imagination  found  not  in  his  subject  uses  for 
the  materials  of  his  expt^rience,  and  opportunities  to  embody 
them.  It  seemed  to  be  no  longer  the  same  high  and  mysterious 
faculty  that  so  ruled  the  tides  of  the  feelings  of  others.    He 
then  appeared  a  more  ordinary  poet— a  skilful  verse-maker. 
The  necromancy  which  held  the  reader  spellbound,  became  in- 
effectual ;  and  the  charm  and  the  glory  which  interested  so 
intensely,  and  shone  so  radiantly  on  his  configurations  from 
realities,  all  failed  and  faded  ;  for  his  genius  dealt  not  with  airy 
Jancies,  but  had  its  power  and  dominion  amidst  the  living  and 
the  local  of  the  actual  world.  ^ 

I  shall  now  return  to  the  consideration  of  his  works:  and  the 
first  in  order  is  the  Corsair,  published  in  1814  He  seems  to 
have  been  perfectly  sensible  that  this  beautiful  composition  was 
m  his  best  peculiar  manner.  It  is  indeed  a  pirate's  isle,  peo- 
pled with  his  own  creatures.  ^ 

It  hM  been  alleged  that  Lord  Byron  was  indebted  to  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  poem  of  Rokeby  for  the  leading  incidents  of  the 
torsair ;  but  the  remembrance  is  not  to  me  very  obvious  :  be- 
sides,  the  whole  style  of  the  poem  is  so  strikingly  in  his  own 
manner,  that  eyen  had  he  borrowed  the  plan,  it  was  only  ks 
L«,r  Tu^-^v""^  his  own  original  conceptions  upon ;  the 
beauty  and  brilliancy  of  them  could  not  be  borrowedVand  are 
I  not  imitations.  ,  •  lu  cmb 

There  were  two  islands  in  the  Ar^^hipelago  when  Lord  Byron 
was  in  Greece,  considered  as  the  chief  haunts  of  the  pirates, 
ptampaha,  and  a  long  narrow  island  between  Cape  Colonna  and 
^a.    Jura  also  was  a  little  tainted  in  its  reputation.    I  think. 
however  from  the  description,  that  the  pirate's  isle  of  the  Cor- 
air  IS  the  island  off  Cape  Colonna.     It  is  a  rude,  rocky  mass, 
know  not  to  what  particular  Coron,  if  there  be  more  than 
one  the  poet  alludes ;  for  the  Coron  of  the  Morea  is  neighbour 
nil.      k"-5^^  ^^^T^^  territory,  a  tract  of  country  which 
uZ,'?  ""'^^d  *°  i*^"  ^"^'^«'  ^^  ^'^^  ^'^^"^Pted  from  the 
IE  ♦      ^u^^.i^""'"^"'^"  officers  by  the  payment  of  an  annual 
THf  £  •    .u  ^^'"ot««  themselves  are  all  pirates  and  robbers. 
Jit  m„  .  i"  t'ift  Coron  that  Byron  has  placed  Seyd  the  pashaw, 

■  U  must  hf>  nftriKnfxi^  *»  .'^ A * tt?      t  X,  .  1~°"«."» 

ii*L..„       ".- -"  v^- iixttOvcjiuiicj.  nis  iiorasnip  was  never 

lnfl'.''°7"^''^  partof  Maina;  nor  does  he  describe  the  place, 
la  circumstance  which  of  itself  goes  far  to  prove  the  inadvert- 
I2»,  tV!'  ^°^«^^'''  *f 'y  i"  making  it  the  seat  of  a  Turkish 
Kw;i  *  '"'J  error  has  been  committed.  In  working  out 
iwe  incidents  of  the  poem,  where  descriptions  of  scenery  are 


m'^M 


142 


THE  LIFE  OF 


"ilifeU 


"■i.v.v-»r!T3M-ji^?"rfii  -^ 


lilililll 


ffivon,  thpy  relate  chiefly  to  Athens  and  its  neighbourhood. 
In  themselves  these  descriptions  are  executed  with  an  ex. 
quisite  folicitv,  but  they  are  brought  in  without  any  obvious 
reason  wherefore.  In  fact  they  appear  to  have  boon  written 
independently  of  the  poem,  and  are  patched  on  "  shreds  ot  pur- 
ple" which  could  have  been  spared. 

The  character  of  Conrad  the  Corsair  may  be  described  as  a 
combination  of  the  warrior  of  Albania  and  a  naval  officer— Childe 
Harold  mingled  with  the  hero  of  the  Giaour. 

A  man  of  loneliness  and  mystery. 
Scarce  seen  to  smile,  and  seldom  l.eard  to  sigh ; 
Robust,  but  not  Herculean,  to  the  sight 
No  giant  frame  sets  forth  his  common  height; 
Yet  in  the  whole,  who  paused  to  look  again 
Saw  more  than  marks  the  crowd  of  vulgar  men : 
They  gaze  and  marvel  how,  and  still  confess 
That  thus  it  is,  but  why  they  cannot  guess. 
Sun -burnt  his  cheek,  his  forehead  high  and  pale, 
The  sable  curls  in  wild  profusion  veil, 
And  oft  perforce  his  rising  lip  reveals  _ 

The  haughtier  thought  it  curbs,  but  scarce  conceals , 
Though  smooth  his  voice,  and  calm  his  general  mien. 
Still  seems  there  something  he  would  not  have  seen. 
His  features'  deepening  lines  and  varying  hue 
At  times  attracted,  yet  perplex'd  the  view, 
As  if  within  that  murkiness  of  mind 
Work'd  feelings  fearful,  and  yet  undefined  : 
Such  might  he  be  that  none  could  truly  tell, 
Too  close  inquiry  his  stern  glance  could  quell- 
There  breathed  but  few  whose  aspect  could  Oeiy 
The  full  encounter  of  his  searching  eye ; 
He  had  the  skill,  when  cunning  gazed  to  seek 
To  probe  his  heart  and  watch  his  changing  cheek. 
At  once  the  observer's  purpose  to  espy, 
And  on  himself  roll  back  his  scrutiny, 
Lest  he  to  Conrad  rather  should  betray 
Some  secret  thought,  than  drag  that  chief  s  to  day. 

There  was  a  laughing  devil  in  his  sneer 
That  raised  emotions  both  of  rage  and  fear ; 
And  where  his  frown  of  hatred  darkly  fell 
Hope  withering  fled,  and  mercy  sigh'd,  farewell. 

It  will  be  allowed  that,  in  this  portrait,  some  of  the  darkerl 
features,  and  harsher  lineaments  of  Byron  himself,  are  very 
evident,  but  with  a  more  fixed  sternness  than  belonged  to  him  J 
for  it  was  only  by  fits  that  he  could  put  on  such  severity.  U  • 
rad  is,  however,  a  higher  creation  than  any  which  he  had  prej 

,     ,        -,-1    T i — ,1  ~f  ty,«  iiatTnaanoas  nf  Childe  HaroiOii 

viousiv  aescriDcu.  ia=Lcatt  d  k..^- .i ---     .  ,j 

he  is  active  and  enterprising;  such  as  the  noble  pilgrim  woul 
have  been,  but  for  the  satiety  which  had  relaxed  his  ener^ieM 
There  is  also  about  him  a  solemnity  different  from  the  anim».l 
tion  of  the  Giaour-a  penitential  despair  arising  from  a  causj 
undisclosed.    The  Giaour,  though  wounded  and  lettered,  ^ 


LORD  BYRON. 


143 


laid  in  a  dungeon,  would  not  have  felt  as  Conrad  is  supposed  to 
t  feel  in  that  situation.    The  following  bold  and  terrific  verses, 

descriptive  of  the  maelstrom  agitations  of  remorse,  could  not 
I  have  been  appropriately  applied  to  the  despair  of  grief,  the  pre- 
I  dominant  source  of  emotion  in  the  Giaour. 

There  is  a  war,  a  chaos  of  the  mind 

When  all  its  elements  convulsed  combined, 

Lie  dark  and  jarring  with  periurhed  force, 

And  gnashing  with  impenitent  remorse. 

That  juggling  tiend  who  never  spake  before, 

But  cries '  I  warn'd  thee,'  when  the  deed  is  o'er : 

"Vain  voice  the  spirit  burning,  but  unbent,  ; 

May  writhe,  rebel— the  weak  alone  rep<int. 

The  character  of  Conrad  is  undoubtedly  finely  imagined  ;— 
as  the  painters  would  say,  it  is  in  the  highest  style,  of  art,  and 

i  brougnt  out  with  sublime  effect ;  but  still  it  is  only  another 
phase  of  the  sariie  portentous  meteor,  that  was  nebulous  in 

1  Childe  Harold,  and  fiery  in  the  Giaour.  To  the  safe  and  shop- 
lesorting  irihabitants  of  Christendom,  the  Corsair  seems  to  pre- 
sent  many  improbabilities;  nevertheless,  it  is  true  to  nature; 
and  in  every  part  of  the  Levant  the  traveller  meets  with  indi- 
viduals whose  air  and  physiognomy  remind  him  of  Conrad. 
The  incidents  of  the  story,  also,  so  wild  and  extravagant  to 
the  snug  and  legal  notions  of  England,  are  not  more  in  keeping 

i  with  the  chaidcter,  than  they  are  in  accordance  with  fact  and 
reality.    The  poet  suff"ers  immeasurable  injustice,  when  it  is 
attempted  to  determine  the  probability  of  the  wild  scenes  and 
wilder  adventures  of  his  tales,  by  the   circumstances   and 
characters  of  the  law-regulated  system  of  our  diurnal  aflfairs. 
Probability  is  a  standard  formed  by  experience,  and  it  is  not 
surprising  that  the  anchorets  of  libraries  should  object  to  the 
improbability  of  the  Corsair,  and  yet  acknowledge  the  poetical 
power  displayed  in  the  composition ;  for"  it  is  a  work  which 
could  only  have  been  written  by  one  who  had  himself  seen  or 
heard  on  the  spot  of  transactions  similar  to  those  he  has  de- 
scribed.    No  course  of  reading  could  have  supplied  n^atenals  for 
a  narration  so  faithfully  descriptive  of  the  accidents  to  which 
an  iEgean  pirate  is  exposed,  as  the  Corsair.    Had  Lord  Byron 
never  been  out  of  England,  the  production  of  a  work  so  appro- 
priate in  reflection,  so  wild  in  spirit,  and  so  bold  in  invention, 
as  in  that  case  it  would  have  been,  would  hate  entitled  him  to 
the  highest  honours  of  original  conception,  or  been  rejected  as 


-  - li  _i'*u:„~™ 


■^n    ami 


i  extravagant;  considered  as  the  .^ o  •         ,    -, 

babilities  suggested  by  transactions  not  uncommon  in  the 
region  where  his  genius  gathered  the  ingredients  of  its  sorce- 
ries, more  than  the  half  of  its  merits  disappear,  while  the  other 
half  brighten  with  the  lustre  of  truth.    The  manners,  tlio  ae. 


f  ff 


fl  i-' 


.♦•U. 


Irii 


X44  THE  LIFE   OP 

tions,  and  the  incidents,  were  new  to  the  English  mind;  but  to 
the  inhabitant  of  the  Levant  they  have  long  been  familiar,  and 
the  traveller  who  visits  that  region  will  hesitate  to  admit  that 
Lord  Byron  possessed  those  creative  powers,  and  that  discern- 
ment  of  dark  bosoms  for  which  he  is  so  much  celebrated ;  be. 
cause  he  will  see  there  how  little  of  invention  was  necessary 
to  form  such  heroes  as  Conrad,  and  how  much  the  actual  traffic 
of  life  and  trade  is  constantly  stimulating  enterprise  and 
bravery.  But  lot  it  not,  therefore,  be  supposed  that  I  would 
undervalue  either  the  genius  of  the  poet,  or  the  merits  of  thi 
poem,  in  saying  so;  for  I  do  think  a  higher  faculty  has  been 
exerted  in  the  Corsair  than  in  Childe  Harold.  In  the  latter, 
only  actual  things  are  described,  freshly  and  vigorously  as  they 
were  seen,  and  feelings  expressed  eloquently  as  they  were  felt; 
but  in  the  former,  the  talent  of  combination  has  been  splendidly 
employed.  The  one  is  a  view  from  nature;  the  other  is  a  com- 
position  both  from  nature  and  from  history. 

Lara,  which  appeared  soon  after  the  Corsair,  is  an  evident 
eopplement  to  it ;  the  description  of  the  hero  corresponds  in 
person  and  character  with  Conrad  ;  so  that  the  remarks  made 
on  the  Corsair  apply,  in  all  respects,  to  Laru.  The  poem  itself 
is,  perhaps,  in  elegance  superior ;  but  the  descriptions  are  not 
Bo  vivid,  simply  because  they  are  more  indebted  to  imagina. 
tion.  There  is  one  of  them,  however,  in  which  the  lake  and 
abbey  of  Newstead  are  dimly  shadowed,  equal  in  sweetness 
and  solemnity  to  any  thing  the  poet  has  ever  written. 

It  was  the  niffht,  and  Lara's  ulnssy  stream 

The  stars  are  studding,  eacti  with  imaged  beam: 

So  calm,  the  waters  scarcely  seem  to  stray, 

And  yet  they  glide,  like  happiness,  away  j 

Reflecting  far  and  fairy-like  from  high 

The  immortal  lights  that  live  along  the  sky  ; 

Its  banks  are  fringed  with  many  a  goodly  tree, 

And  flowers  the  lairest  that  may  feast  th    bee : 

Such  in  her  clmplet  infant  Dian  wove. 

And  innocence  would  offer  to  her  love ; 

These  deck  the  shore,  the  waves  their  channel  make 

In  windings  bright  and  mazy,  like  the  snake. 

All  was  so  still,  so  soft  in  earth  and  air, 

You  scarce  would  start  to  mni't  a  spirit  there, 

Secure  that  nought  of  evil  could  delight 

To  walk  in  such  a  scene,  in  such  a  night! 

It  was  a  moment  only  for  the  good : 

So  Lara  d*m'd  :  nor  longer  there  he  stood ; 

But  turn'd  in  silence  to  his  castlegate  : 

SUCu  oCc::~:::s  buu:  uuiuOi'c i 

Sach  scene  reminded  him  of  it  her  days. 

Of  skies  more  cloudless,  moons  of  purer  blaze ; 

Of  nights  more  soft  and  frequent,  hearts  that  now— 

No,  no!  the  storm  may  beat  upon  iiis  brow 

Unfelt,  unsparing ;  but  a  night  like  this, 

A  nigbt  of  beauty,  mock'd  such  breast  as  his. 


LORD   BYRON.  145 

He  turn'd  within  his  solitary  hull, 
And  his  high  Hhadow  shot  along  the  wall; 
There  were  the  painted  forma  of  other  liinei — 
'Twas  all  they  let\  of  virtues  or  of  crimes, 
Save  vague  tradition  ;  and  the  gloomy  vaults 
That  hid  their  dust,  their  foibles,  and  their  fbulta, 
And  half  a  column  of  the  pompous  page, 
That  speeds  the  spacious  tale  from  age  to  age  ; 
Where  history's  pen  its  praise  or  blame  supplies 
And  lies  like  truth,  and  still  moat  truly  lies; 
He  wand'ring  mused,  and  as  the  moonb«iam  shone 
Through  the  dim  lattice  o'er  the  floor  of  stone. 
And  the  liigh  fretted   oof,  and  aaints  that  there 
O'er  Gotliic  windowi  knelt  in  pictured  prayer ; 
Reflected  in  fantastic  figures  grew 
Like  life,  but  not  like  mortal  life  to  view; 
His  bristling  locks  of  sable,  brow  of  gloom. 
And  the  wide  waving  of  his  shaken  plume 
Glanced  like  a  spectre's  attributes,  and  gav9 
His  aspect  all  that  terror  gives  the  grave. 

That  Hyron  wrote  best  when  he  wrote  of  himself  and  of  his 
own,  has  probably  been  already  made  sufficiently  apparent  In 
this  respect  he  stands  alone  and  apart  from  all  other  poeta ;  and 
there  will  be  occasion  to  show,  that  this  peculiarity  extended 
much  ftirther  over  all  his  works,  than  merely  to  those  which 
may  be  said  to  have  required  him  to  be  thus  personal.  The 
great  distinction,  indeed,  of  his  merit  consists  in  that  singu- 
larity.  Shakspeare,  in  drawing  the  materials  of  his  dramas 
from  tales  and  history,  has,  with  wonderful  art,  given  from  his 
own  invention  and  imagination  the  fittest  most  appropriate 
sentiments  and  language;  and  admiation  at  the  perfection 
with  which  he  has  accomplished  this,  can  never  be  exhausted. 
The  difference  between  Byron  and  Shakspeare  consists  in  the 
curious  accident,  if  it  may  be  so  railed,  by  which  the  forrner 
was  placed  in  circumstances  whic  a  taught  him  to  feel  in  him- 
I  self  the  very  sentiments  that  he  has  ascribed  to  his  characters. 
Shakspeare  created  the  feelintrs  of  his,  and  with  such  excellence, 
that  they  are  not  only  probable  to  the  situations,  but  give  to  the 
personifications  the  individuality  of  living  persons.  Byron's  are 
scarcely  less  so;  but  with  him  there  was  no  invention,  only  ex- 
perience; and  when  he  attempts  to  express  more  than  he  has. 
himself  known,  he  is  always  comparatively  feeble. 


N 


1^ 


146 


THE  LIFS  Of 


Mil 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Byron  determines  to  reside  abroad.-Visits  the  plain  of  Waterloo 

State  of  his  feelings.        **    "  "»  vvaierloo.^ 

it  lT,ffi  ^'''!r*  incidental  expressions  in  his  correspondence 
Ipi  f^"^"i'^  r^*^^"'  ^^^*  ^^-on.  before  his  marSe  L 

Shl\i      :^^^  distinctly  states  this  intention,  and  intimal;; 
that  he  then  thought  of  establishing  his  home  in  Greece     IH 

BvronT/T  '?7u"'^"^  '^^*'  ^^''  his  separation  S  Lad 

enect ,  lor  at  that  penod,  besides  the  cahimDV  beaoed  uZ 

t^rJf7  f  *^"'!''"^'  '^'  embarrassment  of  his  a£rs T 
the  retahatory  satire,  all  tended  to  force  him  into  exHe^he  S 

oTfv!'''oL^^l'T^^'  '''  to  bind  him  to  Eng^^^^^^^^^      ^'  ^"^ 

ill  pH""S£feSS 

shadow   am!dth!l  H."  ''"'.^"'"''y  ^^"'•"^*^^'  ''^^^^^  ^ike 
more  d  cfdeil^  fom^^^^^  ^nd  reflections-he^  eome, 

In  nassimr  t^  R.       1    t  *^^  ^'''■'' '"  ^is  own  person, 
the  slfghtsltch  Xfhe  V''^       '^'  ^^^^  of  Waterloo,  and 
ful  conmct  if stillthp  fin.  ^Vl'u  '^  *^"  P°"™  °^*''^t  event. 
subj^t      •  ''*  '^'''^^  h*'  y^*  been  written  on  the 

my^pret'n?tur'2i'  -''^  '°  *^^\««^^  ^«  °f  "^°re  importance  to 
4Znte^  to  illLtratethe 

my  reXjfon  S^^^^^^  --P™g  it  with 

marked  out  for  the TpL  «?  *  P^^'"  Waterloo,  seems 

may  be  mere  imalin^ff    ^^^^T^^'^?*  action,  though  this 
thoTe  of  pTatea  S  M "*";•    '  ^^^  '''^^^^  ^i^b  attention 

rathon,  and  tt'fiTM^^^^^^^^^  StTa'^' n'^'nTr ^'  '^"^  ^^ 

pears  to  want  littlo  h.,.  .  L.!  •^°'"  '""'  Hugoumont  ap. 

celebrated  aMt  to  vtl  ^!^^,i?'',''  "l  °8^»  ""•<>»"  "°>"«1  « 
ceptperhaps'Th'-el'airiS!"'''''  "^  "  ^' »' t^e^.  e. 

tested,  as  if  he  somrhf  t^'Ji '"  """'"=  -^"giaxia  is  oiten  mauj. 
nationarpride  •  that  L^df  r-  K^^^^  ^^^  exasperating  the 
wa.  to  be'i:^metd^b;tistwn\tr""^  '^^^"'^  ^^"^^ 


.   !■ 


LORD  BYRON. 


!  plain  of  WatCTloo.-r 


id  is  ofien  iuauj. 


147 


i^^^i'c^of^^l^^^^^  *'n^.^  ?«  '^^^  -nto,  test 
they  are  all  drawn  from  aSv:.™  '".u^"  u"^^'  '^°'  »'"'  «« 
individuality  impress^  uZ  li  '  *Hf7 1?^"  *^^  «^™«  vivid 
simple  and  affeSfnTt Jan  trfn^""^-  ^^^^'""^  ^'^'^  ^  ^oro 
^  to  an  imaginary^scene  ""'"^  P^'*""'  ""^^  ^''  ^^^^S 

Oar  enemies.    AncUet  not  that  foS 

cient  Aventicutn.  ircomWi^es  ^^^^  '•  ^"'^"!^^^'  ^^«  ^"■ 
picturesque,  poetical  assodaSs  fi,n  f,^^™*ff«  *^i«tinct  and 
breathings  of^lden  ^^Z^TZ.^'^^t^^.f^'^^  ^'  ™°^«^ 

A^/rev  » nr"'  ?  ^°"""«'  ^«'"mn  'ears 
T'fs  f L  lil^"^'^-"'^''"  'aspect  of  old  days  • 
A   J  f"^'ast  remnant  of  the  wreck  of  vro',» 

&?iitf'  r  ^•"'  ^h«  wild  bS5e?^dS' 

^£arrvTrs'd2ctr^^ 

4!  W^rofToSjf  ^^^^^^^^^  t^  ^^i^d  canto  is  the 

sages,  and  which  P-ivPs  fnU  ,  T  '^""^.  ^"rough  severa  pas. 
thTcircumrtances^  under  whlch^t T'^''"'^  ^^'^  ^^^«^«"««  ^ 
character  of  documentary  e^erce  artoTh""'"'  '^'  .'T'"^ 
Ation  of  the  poet's  minH  tV  u  ^  °^^^^  remorsefu  con. 
been  pointed^ut  i^brthl  — '^  ^^'"^'^  ^^^^has  already 
that  tLseldt'ts'^ffe:,!^^^^^^^^^^^  -^  *°  «-y^ 

strong  indications  of  ha  vJn^Ki^'     ^  '^',^'^  paroxysms,  bear 
domestic  hap^FnXanrdfctatdT^'''!^-^^  *^^  wreck  of  his 
e  had  himsSfftakekTn  the  ruin     ^hTm'''^  ""'^  ^  P^'^  ^^ 
he  unguarded  hour,  are  full  of  nnf  hnc.  ^°"°^/"?  reflections  on 
.n.  almost  to  the  de'ep  a^^irltfcm^^^^^^^^^^^ 

Sr L'^wl'^'f •!L»rk«ep  the  rnrnV""' 
We  may  deplore  and  struffffle  t^th  thf  mil 


fe. 


148  THE  LIFB  OF 

There,  In  a  moment,  we  may  plunge  our  yeara 
In  fatal  penitence,  and  in  the  blight 
Of  our  own  soul,  turn  all  our  blood  to  tears, 
And  colour  things  to  come  with  hues  of  night ; 
The  raco  of  life  becomes  a  hopeless  flight 
,  To  those  who  walk  in  darkness :  on  the  sea. 

The  boldest  steer  but  where  their  ports  invite ; 
But  ther«  are  wanderers  o'er  eternity, 
Whose  bark  drives  on  and  on,  and  anchor'd  ne'er  shall  be. 

These  sentiments  are  conceived  in  the  mood  of  an  awed 

spirit ;  they  breathe  of  sorrow  and  penitence.    Of  the  weari- 

ness  of  satiety,  the  pilgrim  no  more  complains  ;  he  is  no  longer 

despondent  from  exhaustion,  and  the  lost  appetite  of  passion, 

but  from  the  weight  of  a  burden  which  he  cannot  lay  down; 

and  he  clings  to  visible  objects,  as  if  from  their  nature  he 

could  extract  a  moral  strength. 

I  live  not  in  myself,  but  I  become 
Portion  of  that  around  me ;  and  to  me, 
High  mountains  are  a  feeling ;  but  the  hum 
Of  human  cities  tortures:  I  can  see 
Nothing  to  loathe  in  nature,  save  to  be 
A  link  reluctant  in  a  fleshly  chain, 
Class'd  among  cteaiures,  where  the  soul  can  flee, 
And  with  the  sky,  the  peak,  the  heaving  plain 
Of  Ocean  or  the  stars,  mingle,  and  not  in  vain. 

These  dim  revelations  of  black  and  lowering  thought,  are 
overshadowed  with  a  darker  hue  than  sorrow  alone  could  have 
cast  A  consciousness  of  sinful  blame  is  evident  amidst  them ; 
and  though  the  fantasies  that  loom  through  the  mystery,  are 
not  so  hideous  as  the  guilty  reveries  in  the  weird  caldron  of 
Manfred's  conscience,  still  they  have  an  awful  resemblance  to 
them.  They  are  phant'-  .is  of  the  same  murky  element,  and, 
being  more  akin  to  fortitude  than  despair,  prophesy  not  of 
hereafter,  but  oracularly  confess  suffering. 

Manfred  himself  liath  given  vent  to  no  finer  horror  than  the 
oracle  that  speaks  in  this  magnificent  stanza : 

I  have  not  loved  the  world,  nor  the  world  me ; 
I  have  not  flatter'd  its  rank  breath,  nor  bow'd 
To  its  idolatries  a  patient  knee— 
Nor  coined  my  cheek  to  smiles--nor  cried  aloud 
In  worship  of  an  echo ;— in  the  crowd 
They  could  not  deem  me  one  of  such ;  I  stood 
Among  tham,  but  not  of  them  ;  in  a  shroud 
Of  thoughts  which  were  not  of  their  thoughts,  and  still  could, 
Had  I  not  filed  my  mind,  which  thus  itself  subdued. 

There  are  times  in  life  when  all  men  feel  their  sympathies 
extinct,  and  Lord  Byron  was  evidently  in  that  condition,  when 
he  penned  these  remarkable  lines ;  but  independently  of  their 
striking  beauty,  the  scenery  in  which  they  were  conceived  de. 
serves  to  be  considered  with  reference  to  the  sentiment  that 


lOHD  BTBON. 


149 


horror  than  the 


pervades  them.  For  it  was  amidst  the  same  obscure  ravines, 
pme-tufted  precip.ces,  and  falling  waters  of  the  Alps,  that  ho 
afterwards  placed  the  outcast  Manfred-an  additionkl  corro- 
borahon  of  the  justness  of  the  remarks  which  I  ventured  to 
offer,  in  adverting  to  his  ruminations  in  contemplating,  while 
yet  a  boy,  the  Malvern  hills,  as  if  they  were  the  scenes  of  his 
impassioned  childhood.  In  "  the  palaces  of  nature,"  he  first 
telt  the  consciousness  of  having  done  some  wrong;  and  when 
he  would  infuse  mto  another,  alb.it  in  a  wilder  degree,  the 
feelings  be  had  himself  felt,  he  recalled  the  images  which  had 
ministered  to  the  cogitations  of  his  own  contrition.  But  I  shaU 
have  occasion  to  speak  more  of  this,  when  I  come  to  consider 
the  nature  of  the  guilt  and  misery  of  Manfred. 
That  Manfred  is  the  greatest  of  Byron's  works  will  probably 

m!.S«».    Pfu^^u    ^*  ^^'  "'"'■^  *h^"  t^«  ^^tal  mysticism  of 
Macbeth,  wih  the  satanic  grandeur  of  the  Paradise  Lost;  and 

A  \^,^T^^  ^'^  circumstances,  and  amidst  scenes,  which 
accord  with  the  stupendous  features  of  his  preternatural  cha- 
racter. How  then,  it  may  be  u.ked,  does  this  moral  phantom, 
^at  has  never  been  be  7  resemblance  to  the  ^et  him- 

ZZ  ^V'V"°*'  '^  *^*«  ^  ^  "-^e,  the  hypothesis  whichassigns 
to  Byron  s  heroes  his  own  sentiments  and  feelings  be  aban- 
iZl  -J  t -"u  r*-  ^"  noticing  the  deep  and  solemn  reflec 
SiT;  V'''''^.^'^..'^^  ^^^^^^^  '"  ascending  the  Rhine,  and 
which  he  has  embodied  m  the  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold,  I 
have  a  ready  pointed  out  a  similarity  in  the  tenour  of  tiie 
hought3  to  those  of  Manfred,  as  well  as  the  striking  acknow- 
ledgment  of  the  "filed"  mind.  There  is,  moreover,  in  the 
drama,  the  same  distaste  of  the  world  whiith  Byron  himself 
expressed,  when  cogitating  on  the  desolatioa  of  his  hearth,  and 
Uie  same  contempt  of  the  insufficiency  of  his  genius  and  re. 
nown  <o  mitigate  contrition,-all  in  strange  harmony  with  the 

^^JZ^'^f'^Ti''^^^''^^  °^  ''S^^'    I«  ^°t  tJ^e  opening  solilo. 
qu/  of  Manfred  the  very  echo  of  the  reflections  on  the  Rhino  ? 

My  slumbers-ifl  slumber— are  not  sleep, 
But  a  continuance  of  enduring  thought, 
Which  then  I  can  resist  not :  in  my  heart 
1  here  is  a  vigil,  and  these  eyes  but  close 
to  look  within— and  yet  I  live  and  bear 
Ihe  aspect  and  the  form  of  breathing  man. 

U^"*  *i  j\^°"°Ti",^  ^^  ™°''®  >"»Pressive :  it  is  the  very  phrase 
he  would  himself  havt.  emnlnuoH  ♦«  l,o««  »..«i c  iul 

sequences  of  his  fatal  marriage  I  ""   ^''""'^"  "^  "'"  """"* 

My  injuries  came  down  on  those  who  loved  me 
On  those  whom  I  best  loved :  I  never  quell'd 
An  enemy,  save  iii  my  just  defence— 
But  ray  embrace  was  fatal. 
n3 


160 


THE  T  TFE  OP 


«.,  h\<-Ms.tf 


He  had  not,  indeed,  been  engaged  in  any  duel  of  which  the 
issue  was  mortal ;  but  he  had  been  so  far  engaged  with  mora 
than  one,  that  he  could  easily  conceive  what  it  would  have 
been  to  have  quelled  an  enemy  in  just  defence.  But  unless 
the  reader  can  himself  discern,  by  his  sympathies,  that  there 
IS  the  resemblance  I  contend  for,  it  is  of  no  use  to  multiply  in. 
stanc.  s  I  shall,  therefore,  give  but  one  other  extract,  which 
breathes  the  predominant  spirit  of  all  Byron's  works— that 
sad  translation  of  the  preacher's  "  vanity  of  vanities ;  all  is 
vanity !" 

Look  on  me !  there  is  an  nrder 

Of  mortals  on  the  earth,  who  do  become 

Old  in  their  youth,  and  die  ere  middle  age, 

Without  the  violence  of  warlike  death ; 

Some  perishing  of  pleasure— some  of  study- 
Pome  v/oin  with  toil— some  of  mere  weariness— 

k  jme  of  disease— and  some  insanity— 

And  some  of  wither'd,  or  of  broken  hearts ; 

For  this  last  is  a  malady  which  slays 

More  than  are  number'd  in  the  lists  of  Fate, 

Taking  all  shapes,  and  bearing  many  names. 

Look  upon  me!  for  even  of  all  these  things 

Have  1  partaken— and  of  all  these  things 

One  were  enough ;  then  wonder  not,  that  I 

Am  what  I  am,  but  that  I  ever  was  ; 

Or,  having  been,  that  I  am  still  on  earth. 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 

Byron's  residence  in  Switzerland— Excursion  to  the  glaciers.— Manfred 
founded  on  a  magical  sacrifice,  not  on  guilt.-Similarity  between  senti 
ments  given  to  Manfred  and  those  expressed  by  Lord  Byron  in  his  own 

The  account  given  by  Captain  Mcdwin  of  the  manner  in 

which  Lord  Byron  spent  his  time  in  Switzerland,  has  the 

racineness  of  his  Lordship's  own  quaintness,  somewhat  diluted. 

The  reality  of  the  conversations  I  have  heard  questioned,  but 

they  relate  in  some  instances  to  matters  not  generally  known, 

to  the  truth  of  several  of  which  I  can  myself  bear  witness ; 

moreover  they  have  much  of  tlie  poet's  peculiar  modes  of  think. 

mg  about  them,  though  weakened  in  effect  by  the  reporter. 

No  man  can  give  a  just  representation  of  another  who  is  not 

capable  of  putting  himself  into  the  character  of  his  original, 

and  of  thinking  with  his  power  and  intelliffcnce.    Still  there 

are  occasional  touches  of  merit  in  the  feeble  outlines  of  Captain 

Medwin,  and  with  this  conviction  it  would  be  negligence  not 

to  avail  myself  of  them. 

"  Switzerland,"  said  his  Lordship,  « is  a  country  I  have  been 


LORD  BYKON. 


161 


try  I  have  been 


satisfied  with  seeing  once ;  Turkey  I  could  live  in  for  ever  I 
never  forget  my  pi.dilections :  iVas  in  a  wretched  sLt;  of 
heal  h  and  worse  spirits  when  I  was  at  Geneva  ;  but  qui^t  an  J 
the  lake  better  physcians  than  Polidori,  soon  set  me  up  J 
never  led  so  moral  a  life  as  during  mv  residence  in  that  coXrv  • 
but  I  gained  no  credit  by  it.   Vhere  there  is  mortmcat  on' 

absurd  that  they  did  not  invent  at  my  cost.    I  was  watched 
by  glasses  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake,  and  by  glales  ^ 
that  must  have  had  very  distorted  optics ;  I'was  waySTn  mv' 
ej^ning  drives.    I  believe  they  looked  upon  me'as  a  mS 

*n  11  ^"T/fy  ^^w  of  the  Genevese.  Hentsh  was  very  civil 
to  me,  and  I  have  a  great  respect  for  Sismondi.  I  was  forced 
to  return  the  civilities  of  one  of  their  professors  by  alkfnl  Wm 
and  an  old  gentleman,  a  friend  of  Gray's,  to  dine  with  me^ 
had  gone  out  to  sail  early  in  the  morning  and  the  winrpie 

St  T  f  ^V«t"^»i"g:  in  time  for  dinner.  I  uXstand 
that  I  offended  them  mortally.  ""ucismna 

<«hl'if'"'''if  ^^co^nt'-ymen  I  made  no  new  acquaintances- 
EnS  ^°",^  ^^'''  ^^^  Hobhouse,  were  almost  the  on  y 

bSv  aflT?  I  ''^-  i^"  ^°"^^^'  ^  «^°^«^  ^  distaste  S 
Bocjety  at  that  time,  and  went  little  among  the  Genevese  • 
be^des  I  could  not  speak  French.  When  I  wenrtbe  tour' 
of  the  lake  with  Shelley  and  Hobhouse,  the  bolt  wa  „eX 
wrecked  near  the  very  spot  w'.ere  St.  Preux  and  Julia  weX 
n  danger  of  being  drowned.  It  would  have  been  clasS 
to  have  been  lost  there,  but  not  agreeable." 

1  he  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold,  Manfred,  and  the  Prisoner 
of  Chillon,  are  the  fruits  of  his  travds  ,:p  the 'Rhinrand  o?hl 

2r.\'';  ^rl'f'-^'  ^^  '^^  ^^^  ^^  -^  unnecessary  tosly 
more  j  but  he  following  extract  from  the  poet's  travelling  ml 
morandum-book,  has  been  supposed  to  contain  the  germ  oVthe 

Ik  f  ^?  ^  *^^  l^^V  ^^'^^  h"*^"-  The  lake  small,  but 
the  banks  fine;  rocks  down  to  the  water's  edge ;  landed  at 
Newhouse;  passed  Interlachen  ;  entered  upon  a  rfngc  of  scenes 
beyond  all  description  or  previous  conception ;  passed  a  rock 
bearing  an  inscription ;  t  ,0  brothers,  one  murdered  the  other ; 
!  just  the  place  for  it.  After  a  variety  of  windings,  came  tc  an 
enormous  mok  •  nrr,'™^  of  fK^  c^^4.  -V.1--  ^^r'  ^,»'"e_ic  an 

fi.a«A    1     :"—  '  ~ •'•"  -"^  "-•"'•  wi  "iu  mountain  fine  Jung-. 

traw)  glaciers :  torrents,  one  of  these  nine  hundred  feet,  visible 

^av^IVn!A^n  '  ^J"'",^'' '  f  *  .°"*  ^  ^^^  ^^  ^^"^y ;  heard 
an  avalanche  fall  nie  thunder ;  glaciers ;  enormous  storm  comes 
on ,  thunder  and  lighimuff  and  hail ;  aU  in  perfection  and  beau. 


152 


THE  MPS  OF 


tiful.  The  torrent  is  in  shape,  curving  o^er  the  rock,  like  the 
tail  of  the  white  horse  streaming  in  the  wind,  just  as  might  be 
conceived  would  be  that  of  the  pale  horse  on  which  Death  is 
mounted  in  the  Apocalypse :  it  is  neither  mist  nor  water,  but 
a  something  between  both ;  its  immense  height  gives  a  wave,  a 
curve,  a  spreading  here,  a  condensation  there,  wonderful,  in. 
describable ! 

**  September  23, — Ascent  of  the  Wingren,  the  dent  d'argent 
shining  like  truth  on  one  side,  on  the  other  the  clouds  rose  from 
the  opposite  valley,  curling  up  perpendicular  precipices  like  the 
foam  of  tha  ocean  of  hell  during  a  spring-tide.  It  was  white 
and  sulphur^,  and  immeasurably  deep  in  appearance ;  the  side 
■we  ascended  was  of  course  not  of  so  precipitous  a  nature ;  but, 
on  arriving  at  the  simimit,  we  looked  down  on  the  other  side 
■upon  a  boiling  sea  of  cloud  dashing  against  the  crag  on  which 
we  stood.  Arrived  at  the  Greenderwold,  mounted  and  rode  to 
the  higher  glacier,  twilight,  but  distinct,  very  fine;  glacier 
like  a  frozen  hurricane ;  starlight  beautiful ;  the  whole  of  the 
day  was  fine,  and,  in  point  of  weather,  as  the  day  in  which 
Paradise  was  made.  Passed  whole  woods  of  withered  pines,  all 
withered,  trunks  stripped  and  lifeless,  done  by  a  single  winter." 

Undoubtedly  in  these  brief  and  abrupt  but  masterly  touches, 
hints  for  the  scenery  of  Manfred  may  be  discerned,  but  I  can 
perceive  nothing  in  them,  which  bears  the  least  likelihood  tc 
their  having  influenced  the  conception  of  that  sublime  work. 

There  has  always  been  from  the  first  publication  of  Manfred, 
a  strange  misapprehension  with  respect  to  it  in  the  public  mind. 
The  whole  poem  has  been  misunderstood ;  and  the  odious  sup. 
position  that  ascribes  the  tearful  mystery  and  remorse  of  the 
hero  to  a  foul  passion  for  his  sister,  is  probably  one  of  those 
coarse  imaginations  which  have  grown  out  of  th-j  calumnies 
and  accusations  heaped  upon  the  a'lthor.  How  can  it  have 
happened  that  none  of  the  critics  have  noticed  that  the  story  is 
derived  from  the  hum^n  sacrifices  supposed  to  have  been  in 
use  among  the  students  of  the  black  art  ? 

Manfred  is  represented  as  being  actuated  by  an  insatiable 
curiosity — a  passion  to  know  the  forbidden  secrets  of  the  world. 
The  scene  opens  with  him  at  his  midnight  studies — his  lamp 
is  almost  burnt  out— and  he  has  been  searching  for  knowledge 
and  has  not  found  it,  but  only  that — 

Sorrow  la  knowleds^  \  thsv  T^ho  knew  ths  most 
Must  riourn  the  deepest  o'er  the  fatal  truth: 
The  tree  of  knowledge  is  not  that  of  life. 
Philosophy  and  science,  and  the  springs 
Of  wonder,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  world 
I  have  essayed,  and  in  my  mind  there  is 
A  power  to  mak«  these  aubject  to  itself. 


LORD  BTRON^ 


153 


He  is  engaged  in  calling  spirits ;  and  as  the  incantation  pro- 
ceeds, they  obey  his  bidding,  and  ask  him  what  he  wants :  he 
replies,  "  fori^etfulness." 

FIRST  SPIRIT. 
Of  what— of  whom— an  d  why  ? 

MANFRKD. 

Of  that  'vhich  ih  within  me ;  read  it  there—  , 

Ye  know  it,  and  I  cannot  utter  it. 

SPIRIT, 

We  can  but  give  thee  that  which  we  possess  ;— 
Ask  of  us  subjects,  sovereignty,  the  power 
O'er  earth,  the  whole  or  portion,  or  sign 
Which  shall  control  the  elements,  whereof, 
We  are  the  dorainntors.    Each  and  all — 
These  shall  be  thine.. 

MANFRED. 

Oblivion,  self  oblivion- 
Can  ye  not  wring  from  out  the  hidden  realms 
Ye  oflfer  so  profusely,  what  I  aak  ? 

SPIRIT. 

It  is  not  in  our  essence,  in  our  skill. 
But— thou  mayest  die. 

MANFRED. 

Will  death  bestow  it  on  me  ? 

SPIRIT. 

We  are  immortal,  and  do  not  forget ; 

We  are  eternal,  and  to  us  the  past 

Is  as  the  future,  present.    Art  thou  answer'd  ? 

MANFRED. 

Ye  mock  me ;  but  the  power  whJch  brought  ye  here 

Hath  made  you  mine.    Slaves  1  scoff  not  at  my  will ; 

The  mind,  the  spirit,  the  Promethean  spark, 

The  lightning  of  my  being  is  as  bright, 

Pervading,  and  far  darting  as  your  own, 

And  shall  not  yield  to  yours  though  cooped  in  clay. 

Answer,  or  I  will  teach  you  what  I  am. 

SPIRIT. 

We  answer  as  we  answered.    Our  reply 
Is  even  in  thine  own  words. 

MANFRED. 

Why  say  ye  so  > 

SPIRIT, 
rf.  B.9  tllOll  @S,V*Pt.  tFlin^  fRi^nfV  y^'*  ''S!  '^Tt"" 

We  have  replied  In  telling  thee  the  thing  * 
Mortals  call  death,  hath  nought  to  do  with  us. 

MANFRED. 

I  then  have  call'd  you  from  your  realms  in  vain. 


154 


THE  LIFE  OP 


This  impressive  and  original  scene  prepares  the  reader  to 
wonder  why  it  is  that  Manfred  is  so  desirous  to  drink  of  Lethe. 
He  has  acquired  dominion  over  spirits,  and  he  finds,  in  the 
possession  of  the  power,  that  knowledge  has  only  brought  him 
sorrow.  They  tell  him  he  is  immortal,  and  what  he  suffers  is 
as  inextinguishable  as  his  own  being :  why  should  he  desire 
fbrgetfulness  ? — has  he  not  committed  a  great  secret  sin  ? 
What  is  it? — He  alludes  to  his  sister,  and  m  his  subsequent 
interview  with  the  witch  we  gather  a  dreadful  meaning  con- 
cerning her  fate.  Her  blood  has  been  shed,  not  by  his  hand, 
nor  in  punishment,  but  in  the  sha  'ow  and  occultations  of  some 
■unutterable  crime  and  mystery. 

She  was  like  me  in  lineaments ;  her  eyes, 
Her  hair,  her  features,  all  to  the  very  tone 
Even  of  her  voice,  they  said  were  like  to  mine, 
But  soften'd  all,  and  temper'd  into  beauty. 
She  had  the  same  lone  thoughts  and  wanderings. 
The  quest  of  hidden  knowledge,  and  a  mind 
To  comprehend  the  universe ;  nor  these 
Alone,  but  with  them  gentler  powers  than  mine. 
Pity,  and  smiles,  and  tears,  which  I  had  not ; 
And  tenderness— but  that  I  had  for  her ; 
Humility,  and  that  I  never  had  : 
Her  faults  were  mine— her  virtues  were  her  own ; 
I  loved  her  and— destroy'd  her— 

WITCH. 

With  thy  hand? 

MANFRED. 

Not  with  my  hand,  but  heart,  which  broke  her  heart. 
It  gaz^J  on  mine,  and  wither'd.    I  have  shed 
Blood,  but  not  hers,  and  yet  her  blood  was  shed  ;— 
I  saw,  and  could  not  stanch  it. 

There  is  in  this  little  scene,  perhaps,  the  deepest  pathos  ever 
expressed ;  but  it  is  not  of  its  beauty  that  I  am  treating ;  my 
object  in  noticing  it  here  is,  that  it  may  be  considered  in  con- 
nexion with  that  where  Manfred  appears  with  his  insatiate 
thirst  of  knowledge,  and  manacled  with  guilt.  It  indicates 
that  his  sister,  Astarte,  had  been  self-sacrificed  in  the  pursuit 
of  their  magical  knowledge.  Human  sacrifices  were  supposed 
to  be  among  the  initiate  propitiations  of  the  demons  that  have 
their  purposes  in  magic— as  well  as  compact  signed  with  the 
blood  of  the  self-sold.  There  was  also  a  dark  Egyptian  art,  of 
which  the  knowledge  and  the  efficacy  could  only  be  obtained 
by  the  novitiate's  procuring  a  voluntary  victim — the  dearest 
object  to  himself;  and  to  whom  he  also  was  the  dearest  ;*  and 

♦  The  sacrtfloe  of  Antinous  by  the  emperor  Adrian  is  supposed  to  have 
oeen  a  sacrifice  of  that  kind.  Dion  Cassius  says  that  Adrian,  who  had 
appued  Jiimsdf  to  the  study  of  magic,  being  deceived  by  the  principles  oif 


pares  the  reader  to 
s  to  drink  of  Lethe, 
id  he  finds,  in  the 
s  only  brought  him 
I  what  he  suffers  is 
^  should  he  desire 
great  secret  sin? 
in  his  subsequent 
dful  meaning  con- 
d,  not  by  his  hand, 
tccultations  of  some 


le 

mine, 
ty. 

nderings, 
lind 

n  mine, 
not; 


LOHD  BTRON. 


155 


her  own ; 


land? 


ke  her  heart. 

shed 

as  shed ; — 

deepest  pathos  ever 
[  am  treating ;  my 

considered  in  con- 
with  his  insatiate 
juilt.  It  indicates 
iced  in  the  pursuit 
ices  were  supposed 

demons  that  have 
Lct  signed  with  the 
rk  Egyptian  art,  of 
d  only  be  obtained 
ictim— the  dearest 
I  the  dearest  ;*  and 

n  is  supposed  to  have 
hat  Adrian,  who  had 
id  by  the  principles  of 


!ScriE%rffi°/^^'^^^^  ""'^'^^  ^'^«'  I  conceive,  in  a 
SS  Snt,  iv  K  f7'"^  ^^"^  performed,  without  obtaining 
inatnappiness  which  the  votary  expected  would  be  found  in 
^e  knowledge  and  power  purchased  at  such  a  price?  SS  si^ 
i   uTgeVTuUtt  d  \t--  J'^  "^""^^  of  theVcrifice  i  "^l 

He  hath  pursued  l^^H^!^^^'^ 
Without  a  witness—I  have  been  within  it- 
So  have  we  all  been  oft  times :  but  from  it- 
Or  Its  contents,  it  were  impossible 
ro  draw  conclusions  absolute  of  ought 

Snl!.h'''^l"'"l^"— '^"  ^^  sure  there  is 
One  chamber  where  none  enter— *  *  * 
Count  Manfred  was,  as  now.  within  his  tower- 
How  occupied-ive  know  not-but  with  h"m     ' 
The  sole  companion  of  his  wanderings  ' 

TJ!«tT"''i".T~'^'-*'''«™  of  a"  earthly  things 
That  lived,  the  only  thing  he  seem'd  to  love    ^ 

With  admirable  taste,  and  in  thrillinff  auffmentation  of  tu^ 
horror,  the  poet  leaves  the  deed  which^  Tardone '  n  that  in 
approachable  chamber  undivulged,  while  we  are TrSw      TS 
that^withi.  it  lie  the  relics  or  tie  Jhef oFlh^^.t^^^^^^^^^^^ 

K  vo.?nt^a?r,;i."rn"'SfiL^^^^^^  "l'  r'"^  ^  r-dered  immortaf 

which  Antinous  Se  of  himsSf      ^*'  '"^"'"'*'  8°'^^'  ^"^P'ed  the  ofler 
^  njave  somewhere  met  with  a  commentary  on  this  to  the  following 

th?oSffitremp/r;nd"th?dS^^^^  ^^^  rapidly  spreading 

Piatory  offering  w^Cnlv  nrSr  ThW"^f-^^™^'  Hfeby  the  ex- 
tended to  be  in%os'esE'Krknowle?«e  affid"tJ?r''  ^'"?  ^^ 
With  this  mystery  also.  The  emnprnr  wn=  L^  k^  .  *°  ^  acquainted' 
attached  to  the  old  religion- butTtZr.hw«^^»^".  taste  and  bis  vices, 
wvelation ;  and  in  this  state  of  annrS^'' ^^^^r-''"^*'^  ^ 
his  fears  led  him  rcoSult  tKl«r?TA''-'*^"'''^°^''n°^'«dg^^^ 
pressed  him  with  a  Lt?on  thnt  thre  ""^.^^'.".^  ^^^  Isis ;  and  they  im- 
the  sacrifi^  of  a  hZlTbetl  aZ^^T^  ^^'^l^'  ^"'^  ^e  appeased  by 
tirely  as  to  lav  down  his  Ihfe  for  him  a  "!•  ^"*^  "'^^  '°^«'l  ^^  ^o  en- 
of  his  imperial  mSr  when  all  ofh^^  h»5'"]-°"',"°^^'^  ^y  "»«  anxiety 
himself;  and  itTaTlbr  WsSevotinn  ,hJt  a'^?^"  '  •=°"^"»«'l  ^°  «««"««» 
be  hallowed  with  religTous  rS  ^**"'"'  '*"^**  *•"  ««°«»y  »• 


*i  ft 


136 


THE  LIFE  OP 


>H 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Thk  situation  of  Lord  Byron  in  -vitzerland  was  <^oMes. 
He  found  that  "  the  mountain  palaces  of  Nature  attordea  no 
fsvlum  to  a  haunted  heart :  he  was  ill  at  ease  with  himsein  even 
Satisfied  that  the  world  had  not  done  hm  enough  of  wron. 

to  justify  his  misanthropy.  , ,  .  ■ 

Some  expectation  that  his  lady  would  repent  of  her  jarin 
thrseoaration  probably  induced  him  to  linger  m  the  vicinity 
?f  aXMhe  thoroughfare  of  the  travelling  Enghsh  whom 
he  affected  to  shun.    If  it  were  so  he  was  disaPpom^^^^^^^^^ 
his  hones  beinff  frustrated,  he  broke  up  the  establishment  n- 
had  Ked  thie  and  crossed  the  Alps-    A^er  visit^^^^^^^^ 
of  the  celebrated  scenes  and  places  in  Ije  north  of  Ite^,  ne 
passed  on  to  Venice,  where  he  domiciled  ^^^^  -^^  ;  jj"^ 
^  During  his  residence  at  Venice,  Lord  Byron  avoided,  as 
muci;  as'possible,  any  intercourse,  with  his  co-trym^^^^^^^ 
was  perhaps  in  some  degree  necessary,  and  it  was  natural  in 
he  state  of  his  mind.    He  had  become  an  object  of  grea  pub- 
lic interest  bv  his  talents;  the  stories  connected  with  his  ao- 
mestfc  troubles  had  also  increased  his  notoriety,  and  in  such 
Sr  ultancTs  he  could  not  but  shrink  from  the  -q-siUon  o 
mere  curiosity.    But  there  was  an  insolence  m  the  tone  w  n 
wh  eh  he  d  dares  his  "utter  abhorrence  of  any  contact  wU^ 
Ihe  travellinff  English,"  that  can  neither  be  commended  for 
Its  spS  nof  paiuf  ted  by  any  treatment  he  had  suffered.  Like 
cSn^s  he'may  have^anlshed  his  country-,  but  he  had  n^. 
like  the  Fom-n,  received  provocation:  on  the  contrary,  he  had 
been  tL  ;ggre;sor  in  the  feuds  with  his  Uterary  adversaries 
and  there  wis  a  serious  accusation  against  his  niorals,  or  at 
fpasthr  manners,  in  the  circumstances  under  which  Lady 
By  on  withdrew  fr'om  his  house.     It  was,  however  his  mi^for- 
tune  throughout  life  to  form  a  wrong  estimate  of  himself  in 

every  thing  save  in  his  poetical  powers. 

^    tJ,"  :  ^,T    •__  : _- — «r,,.*«n/Mia  ihnxi  m  any  other  great 

city;Tut  a  man  of  genius  carries  with  him  every  where  f 

charm,  which  secures  to  him  both  variety  a^d  enjoyment^ 

Lord  Byron  had  scarcely  taken  up  his  abode  m  Venice,  wnen 

KganThe  fourth  cantoof  Childe  Harold  which  he  pub  isW 

«ariv  m  the  following  year,  and  dedicated  to  his  mdefatigabte 

JAenVMn  Hobhouse^by  an  epistle  dated  on  the  anniversary  of 


LORD  BTRON. 


167 


;  fourth  canto  of 
Beppo.— Lament 
love. 

as  comfortless. 
b"  afforded  no 
h  himself,  even 
jugh  of  wroiijj 

of  her  part  in 
in  the  vicinity 
English,  whom 
ippointed,  and, 
tablishment  he 
r  visiting  some 
rth  of  Italy,  he 
[:  ior  a  tini«- 
on  avoided,  as 
ntrymen.  This 
was  natural  in 
;t  of  great  pub- 
;d  with  his  do- 
ty,  and  in  such 
e  inquisition  of 
1  the  tone  with 
ly  contact  with 
commended  for 
1  suffered.  Like 
but  he  had  not, 
ontrary,  he  had 
,ry  adversaries; 
lis  morals,  or  at 
ier  which  Lady 
ever,  his  misfor- 
te  of  himself  in 

any  other  great 
every  where  a 
and  enjoyment, 
in  Venice,  when 
lich  he  published 
tiis  indefatigable 
le  anniversary  of 


his  marriage,  "  the  most  unfortunate  day,"  as  he  says,  "  of  his 
past  existence." 

In  this  canto  he  has  indulged  his  excursive  moralizing  be. 
yond  even  the  wide  license  he  took  in  the  three  preceding 
parts  ;  but  it  bears  the  impression  of  more  reading  and  obser- 
vation. Though  not  superior  in  poetical  energy,  it  is  yet  a 
higher  work  than  any  of  them,  and  sornethiiijr  of  a  more  re- 
solved and  masculine  spirit  pervades  the  reflections,  and  en- 
dows, as  it  were,  with  thought  and  enthusiasm,  the  aspect  of 
the  things  described.  Of  the  merits  of  the  descriptions,  as  of 
real  things,  I  am  not  qualified  to  judge  :  the  transcripts  from 
the  tablets  of  the  author's  bosom,  he  has  himself  assured  us 
are  faithful. 

"  With  regard  to  the  conduct  of  the  last  canto,  there  will 
be  found  less  of  the  pilgrim  than  in  any  of  the  preceding,  and 
that  little  slightly,  if  at  all,  separated  from  the  author  speakine 
in  his  own  person.  The  fact  is,  that  I  had  become  weary  of 
drawing  a  line,  which  every  one  seemed  determined  not  to 
perceive:  like  the  Chinese,  in  Goldsmith's  'Citizen  of  the 
World,'  whom  nobody  would  believe  to  be  a  Chinese,  it  was  in 
vain  that  I  asserted  and  imagined  that  I  had  drawn  a  distinc- 
tion  between  the  author  and  the  pilgrim  ;  and  the  very  anxietjr 
to  preserve  this  differerice,  and  the  disappointment  at  finding  it 
unavailing,  so  far  crushed  my  efforts  in  the  composition,  that  I 
determined  to  abandon  it  altogether — and  have  done  so." 

This  confession,  though  it  may  not  have  been  wanted,  gives 
a  pathetic  emphasis  to  those  passages  in  which  the  poet  speaks 
of  his  own  feelings.  That  his  mind  was  jarred,  and  out  of 
joint,  there  is  too  much  reason  to  believe ;  but  he  had  in  some 
measure  overcome  the  misery  that  clung  to  him  during  the 
dismal  time  of  his  sojourn  in  Switzerland  ;  and  the  following 
passage,  though  breathing  the  sweet  and  melancholy  spirit  of 
dejection,  possesses  a  more  generous  vein  of  nationality  than 
is  often  met  with  in  his  works,  even  when  the  same  proud  sen- 
timent  might  have  been  more  fitly  expressed : 

I've  taught  me  other  tongues— and  in  strange  eyes 
Have  made  me  not  a  stranger ;  to  the  mind 
Which  is  itself,  no  changes  bring  surprise, 
Nor  is  it  harsh  to  make  or  hard  to  find 
A  country  with — ay,  or  without  mankind. 
Yet  was  I  born  where  men  are  proud  to  be, 
Not  without  cause ;  and  should  I  leave  behind 

i::    iiiVJSit^t-r  i~ia::::  mi.  ttrc  sag-    -ttft;  -f.-., 

And  seek  me  out  a  home  by  a  remoter  sea? 

Perhaps  I  loved  it  well :  and  should  I  lay 
My  ashes  in  a  soil  wnich  is  not  mine, 
My  spirit  shall  resume  it— if  we  may. 
Unbodied,  choose  a  sanctuary.    I  twine 

o 


158 


THE  LIFE  OF 


My  hopes  of  being  romember'd  in  nly  line, 

With  my  land's  language :  if  too  fond  and  far 

These  aopirationa  iii  their  ho|)c  incline — 

If  my  fame  should  be  aa  my  fortunes  are, 
Of  hasty  gruwtl^  and  blight,  and  dull  oblivion  bar 

My  name  from  out  the  temple  where  the  dead 

Are  honour'd  by  the  nations— let  it  be. 

And  light  the  laurels  on  a  loftier  head, 

And  be  the  Sp.jrtan's  epitaph  on  me  ; 

"  Sparta  had  many  a  worthier  son  than  he ;" 

Meantime  I  seek  no  sympathies,  nur  need  ; 

The  thorns  which  I  have  reap'd  are  of  the  tree 

I  planted— they  have  torn  me— and  I  bleed ; 
I  should  have  known  what  fruit  would  spring  from  such  a  seed. 

It  will  strike  the  reader  as  remarkable,  that  although  the 
poet,  in  the  course  of  his  canto,  takes  occasion  to  allude  to 
Dante  and  Tasso,  in  whose  destinies  there  was  i  shadowy 
likeness  of  his  own,  the  rumination  is  mingled  with  less  of  hii  i- 
self  than  might  have  been  expected,  especially  when  it  is  con- 
fiidered  how  much  it  was  a  habit  with  him,  to  make  his  own 
feelings  the  basis  and  substratum  of  the  sentiments  he  ascribed 
to  others.  It  has  also  more  than  once  surprised  me  that  he 
has  so  seldom  alluded  to  Alfieri,  whom  of  all  poets,  both  in 
character  and  conduct,  he  most  resembled;  with  this  difference, 
however,  that  Alfieri  was  possessed  of  affections  equally  intense 
and  durable ;  whereas  the  caprice  of  Byron  made  him  uncertain 
in  his  partialities,  or  what  was  the  same  in  effect,  made  his 
friends  set  less  value  on  them  than  perhaps  they  were  en- 
titled  to. 

Before  Childe  Harold  was  finished,  an  incident  occurred 
which  suggested  to  Byron  a  poem  of  a  very  different  kind  to 
any  he  had  yet  attempted : — without  vouching  tor  the  exact 
truth  of  the  anecdote,  I  have  been  told,  that  he  one  day  received 
by  the  mail  a  copy  of  Whistlecraft's  prospectus  and  specimen 
of  an  intended  national  work ;  and,  moved  by  its  playfulnesy 
immediately  after  reading  it,  began  Beppo,  which  he  finished  at 
a  sitting.  The  facility  with  which  he  composed,  renders  the 
story  not  improbable ;  but,  singular  as  it  may  seem,  the  poem 
itself  has  the  facetious  flavour  in  it  of  his  gaiety,  stronger 
than  even  his  grave  works  have  of  his  frowardness,  commonly 
believed  to  have  been — I  think  unjustly — the  predominant 
mood  of  his  character. 

The  Ode  to  Venice  is  also  to  be  numbered  among  his  com- 
positions in  that  city ;  a  spirited  and  indignant  effusion,  full 
of  his  peculiar  lurid  fire,  and  rich  in  a  variety  of  impressive 
and  original  images.  But  there  is  a  still  finer  poem  which  be- 
longs to  this  period  of  his  history,  though  written,  I  believe, 
before  he  reached  Venice — The  Lament  of  Tasso :  and  I  am 
led  to  notice  it  the  more  particularly,  as  one  of  its  noblest  pas- 


LORD  BYHOW. 


159 


•ages  affords  an  illustration  of  the  opinion  which  I  have  eariy 
maintained — that  Lord  Byron's  extraordinary  pretensions  to 
the  influence  of  love  waa  but  u  metaphysical  conception  of  the 
passion. 

It  is  no  marvel— fVom  my  very  birth 

My  8oul  was  drunk  with  love,  which  did  pervade 

And  mingle  with  whate'er  I  aaw  on  earth; 

Of  objectH  all  inanimate  I  made 

Idols,  and  out  of  wild  and  lovely  flowers 

And  rocks  whereby  they  grew,  a  paradise. 

Where  I  did  lay  me  down  within  the  ^hade     . 

Of  waving  trees  and  dream'd  uncounted  b'  ii ' 

It  has  been  remarked  by  an  anonymou  antbor  ir  Memoirs 
of  Lord  Byron,  a  work  written  with  con  jit'  ruble  '  Jent  and 
acumen,  that  "this  is  so  far  from  being  in  li.  .iuctc.  that  it  i» 
the  very  reverse  ;  for  whether  Tasso  was  in  v  's  3v,:.^e8  or  not, 
if  his  love  was  sincere,  lie  would  have  made  „ne  object  of  his 
affection  the  sole  theme  of  his  meditation,  instead  of  general 
izing  his  passion,  and  talking  about  the  original  sympathies  of 
his  nature."  In  truth,  no  poet  has  better  described  love  than 
Byron  has  his  own  peculiar  passion. 

Hifl  love  was  passion's  essence— as  a  tree 
On  fire  by  lightning ;  with  ethereal  flame 
Kindled  he  was,  and  blasted  ;  for  to  be 
Thus  enamour'd  were  in  him  the  dame. 
But  his  was  not  the  love  of  living  dame, 
Nor  of  the  dead  who  rise  upon  our  dreams, 
But  of  ideal  beauty  which  bocame 
In  him  existence,  and  o'erflowing  teems 
Along  his  burning  page,  distempered  though  it  seems. 

In  tracing  the  course  of  Lord  Byron's  career,  I  have  not 
deemed  it  at  all  necessary  to  advert  to  the  instances  of  his 
generosity,  or  to  conduct  less  pleasant  to  record.  Enough  has 
appeared  to  show  that  he  was  neither  deficient  iri  warmth  of 
heart  nor  in  less  amiable  feelings  ;  but,  upon  the  whole,  it  is 
not  probable  that  either  in  his  charities  or  his  pleasures  he  was 
greatly  different  from  other  young  men,  though  he  undoubted- 
ly had  a  wayward  delight  in  magnifying  his  excesses,  not  in 
what  was  to  his  credit,  like  most  men,  but  in  what  was  calcu- 
lated to  do  him  no  honour.  More  notoriety  has  been  given  to 
an  instance  of  lavish  liberality  at  Venice,  than  the  case  deserved, 
though  it  was  unquestionably  prompted  by  a  charitable  impulse. 
The  house  of  a  shoemaker,  near  his  Lordship*s  residence,  in 
St.  Samuel,  was  burnt  to  the  ground,  with  all  it  contained,  by 
which  the  proprietor  was  reduced  to  indigence.  Byron  not 
only  caused  a  new  but  a  superior  house  to  be  erected,  and  also 
presented  the  sufferer  with  a  sum  of  money  equal  in  value  to 


160 


THE  LIFE  OP 


the  whole  of  his  stcKjk  m  trade  and  furniture.  I  should  endan. 
ger  my  reputation  for  impartiality  if  I  did  not,  as  a  fair  set-off 
to  this,  also  mention  that  it  is  said  he  bought  for  five  hundred 
crowns  a  baker's  wife.    There  might  be  charity  in  this.  Sw 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Removes  to  Ravenna.— The  Countess  Guiccioli. 

Although  Lord  Byron  resided  between  two  and  three  years 
at  Venice,  he  was  never  much  attached  to  it.  «  To  see  a  citv 
^J^l^y^  ^\^^\^oesr  said  he,  «is  a  sad  contemplation.  I 
sought  to  distract  my  mmd  from  a  sense  of  her  desolation  and 
my  own  solitude  by  plungmg  into  a  vortex  that  was  anything 
but  pleasure.  When  one  gets  into  a  mill-stream,  it  is  difficuU 
to  swim  against  it,  and  keep  out  of  the  wheels."  He  became 
ired  and  disgusted  with  the  life  he  led  at  Venice,  and  was  S 
to  turn  his  back  on  it.  About  the  close  of  the  year  1819  he 
accordingly  removed  to  Ravenna;  but  before  I  proceed  to  speak 
of  the  works  which  he  composed  at  Ravenna,  it  is  necessary  to 
explain  some  particulars  respecting  a  personal  affair,  the  influ- 

!rr/nf  /h     "''  ^''  ^-^1 "''"  ""^y"'  productions,  is  as  striking 
as  any  of  the  many  instances  already  described  upon  others 

This  lady,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  was  married  to  the  Count 
one  of  the  richest  noblemen  in  Romagna,  but  far  advanced  in 
lliu  u  ?""  ^^  first,"  said  Lord  Byron,  in  his  account  of  her, 
«5!r .  ^  wl  r^^^fl  ^  artments,  and  she  always  called  him 
bir  !  What  could  bepexpected  from  such  a  preposterous  con- 
nexion.  tor  some  time  she  was  an  Angiolina  and  he  a  Marim 
Faltero  a  good  old  man ;  but  yo-ng  Italian  women  are  not 
satisfied  with  good  old  men,  and  the  venerable  Count  did  not 
object  to  her  availing  herself  cf^he  privileges  of  her  country  in 
selecting  a  cicisbeo;  an  Italian  would  have  made  it  quite 
agreeable:  indeed  for  some  time  he  winked  at  our  intimacy, 
but  at  length  made  an  exception  agaiast  me,  as  a  foreigner,  a 
heretic,  an  Engli^'^man,  and  what  was  woise  than  all,  a  liberal. 
He  insisted— leresa  was  as  obstinate— her  family  took  her 


nnrf 


':^-'vtliGllcg  cannot  get  divorces ;  but  to  the  scandal  of  all 


.  g„„  u*ywiv.<:-i5 ,  uut  lo  uiB  scanaai  or  all 

Komagna^  the  n-.fter  was  at  last  referred  to  the  pope,  who 
ordered  her  a  separate  maintenance,  on  condition  that  she 
should  reside  under  her  fnther's  roof.  All  this  was  not  arrree- 
able ,  and  at  length  I  wa     irced  to  smuggle  her  out  of  Ravenna, 


I  should  endan. 
as  a  fair  set-off 
'or  five  hundred 
y  in  this,  too. 


LORD  BYRON. 


161 


ccioli. 

and  three  years 
"  To  see  a  city 
titemplation.  I 
•  desolation  and 
t  was  any  thingr 
m,  it  is  difficult 
He  became 
3,  and  was  glad 
e  year  1819  he 
iroceed  to  speak 
is  necessary  to 
iffair,  the  influ- 
3,  is  as  striking 
d  upon  others, 
'ith  the  young 

1  to  the  Count, 
ar  advanced  in 
account  of  her, 
ys  called  him, 
sposterous  con- 
id  he  a  Marim 
romen  are  not 
Count  did  not 
her  country  in 
made  it  quite 
our  intimacy, 
1  a  foreigner,  a 
n  all,  a  liberal, 
imily  took  her 
scandal  of  all 
the  pope,  who 
ition  that  she 
vas  not  a.[rree. 
lit  of  Ravenna, 


having  discovered  a  plot  laid  with  the  sanction  of  the  legate, 
for  shutting  her  up  in  a  convent  for  life." 

The  Countess  Guiccioli  was  at  this  time  about  twenty,  but 
she  appeared  younger ;  her  complexion  was  fair,  with  large, 
dark,  languishing  eyes  ;  and  her  auburn  hair  fell  in  great  pro- 
fusion  of  natural  ringlets  over  her  shapely  shoulders.  Her 
features  were  not  so  regular  as  in  their  expression  pleasing, 
and  there  was  an  amiable  gentleness  in  her  voice  which  was 
peculiarly  interesting.  Leigh  Hunt's  account  of  her  is  not 
essentially  dissimilar  from  any  other  that  I  have  either  heard 
of  or  met  with.  He  differs,  however,  in  one  respect,  from 
every  otherj  in  saying  that  her  hair  was  yellow ;  but  consider, 
ing  the  curiosity  which  this  young  lady  has  excited,  perhaps 
It  may  be  as  well  to  transcribe  his  description  at  length,  espe- 
cially  as  he  appears  to  have  taken  some  pains  on  it,  and  more 
particularly  as  her  destiny  seems  at  present  to  promise  that 
the  interest  for  her  is  likely  to  be  revived  by  another  unhappy 
English  connexion. 

"Her  appearance,"  says  Mr.  Hunt,  "  might  have  reminded 
an  English  spectator  of  Chaucer's  heroine : 

Yclothed  was  she,  fresh  for  to  devise, 
Her  yellow  hair  was  braided  in  a  tress 
Behind  her  back,  a  yarde  long  I  guess, 
And  in  the  garden  (as  the  sanieuprist) 
She  waliceth  up  and  down,  where  as  her  list. 

And  then,  as  Dryden  has  it : 

At  every  turn  she  made  a  little  stand 
And  thrust  among  the  thorns  her  lily  hand. 

Madame  Guiccioli,  who  w^as  at  that  time  about  twenty,  was 
handsome  and  ladylike,  with  an  agreeable  manner,  and  a  voice 
not  partaking  too  much  of  the  Italian  fervour,  to  be  gentle. 
She  had  just  enough  of  it  to  give  her  speaking  a  grace — none 
of  her  graces  appeared  entirely  free  from  ait ;  nor,  on  the 
other  hand,  did  they  betray  enough  of  it  to  give  you  an  ill 
opinion  of  her  sincerity  and  good  humour  *  *  *.  Her  hair 
was  what  the  poet  has  described,  or  rather  blond,  with  an  in- 
clin-ition  to  yellow;  a  very  fair  and  delicate  yellow,  at  all 
events,  and  within  the  limits  of  the  poetical.  She  had  regular 
features  of  the  order  properly  called  handsome,  in  d'stinction 
to  prettiness  or  piquancy;  being  well  proportioned  to  one  an- 
otner,  large,  rather  than  otherwise,  but  without  coarseness, 
and  more  harmonious  than  interesting.  Her  nose  was  the 
handsomest  of  the  kind  I  ever  saw ;  and  I  have  known  her 
both  smile  very  sweetly,  and  look  intelligently,  when  Lord 
Byron  has  said  something  kind  to  her.  I  should  not  say,  how- 
ever, that  she  was  i.  very  intelligent  person.  Both  her  wisdom 
o  2 


162 


THE  LIFE  OP 


and  her  want  of  wisdom  were  on  the  side  of  her  feelings,  in 
which  there  was  doubtless  mingled  a  good  deal  of  the  self-love 
natural  to  a  flattered  beauty.  *  *  *  *  In  a  word,  Madame 
Guiccioli  wa?  a  kind  of  buxom  parlour- boarder,  compressing 
herself  artificially  into  dignity  and  elegance,  and  fancying  she 
walked,  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world,  a  heroine  by  the  side  of 
a  poet.  When  I  saw  her  at  Monto  Nero,  near  Leghorn,  she  was 
in  a  state  of  excitement  and  exultation,  and  had  really  some- 
thing  of  this  look.  At  that  time,  also,  she  looked  no  older  than 
she  was ;  in  which  respect,  a  rapid  and  very  singular  change 
took  place,  to  the  surprise  of  every  body.  In  the  course  of  a 
few  months  she  seemed  to  have  lived  as  many  years." 

This  is  not  very  perspicuous  portraiture,  nor  does  it  show 
that  M*".  Hunt  was  a  very  discerning  observer  of  character. 
Lord  Byron  himself  is  represented  to  have  sa'd,  that  extraor. 
dinary  pains  were  takeu  with  her  education:  '  Her  conversa- 
tion is  lively  without  being  frivolous ;  without  being  learned, 
she  has  read  all  the  best  authors  of  her  own  and  the  French 
language.  She  often  conceals  what  she  knows,  from  the  fear 
of  being  thought  to  know  too  much:  possibly  because  she 
knows  I  am  not  fond  of  blues.  To  use  an  expression  of  Jef- 
frey's, '  If  she  has  blue  stockings,  she  contrives  that  her  petti- 
coats shall  hide  them.' " 

Lord  Byron  was  at  one  time  much  attached  to  her ;  nor 
could  it  be  doubted  that  their  affection  was  reciprocal ;  but  in 
both,  their  union  outlived  their  aflfection;  for  before  his  de- 
parture  to  Greece  his  attachment  had  perished,  and  he  left  her, 
as  it  is  said,  notwithstanding  the  rank  and  opulence  she  had 
forsaken  on  his  account,  without  any  provision.  He  had  pro- 
mised, it  was  reported,  to  settle  two  thousand  pounds  on  her, 
but  he  forgot  the  intention,  or  died  befors  it  was  carried  into 
effect.*  On  her  part»  the  estrangement  was  of  a  different  and 
curious  kind — she  had  not  come  to  hate  him,  but  she  told  a 
lady,  the  friend  of  a  mutual  acquaintance  of  Lord  Byron  and 
mine,  that  she  fea  jd  more  than  loved  him. 

*  Mr.  Hobhouse  has  assured  me  that  this  information  is  not  correct. 
"  1  happened,"  says  he,  "  to  know  that  Lord  Byron  offered  to  give  the 
Guiccioir  a  Bum  of  money  outright,  or  to  leave  it  to  her  by  his  will.  I 
also  happen  to  know  thaf,  the  lady  would  not  hear  of  any  such  presenter 
provision ;  for  I  have  a  letter  in  which  Lord  Byron  extols  her  disinterest- 
ednesB,  and  mentions  that  he  has  met  with  a  similar  refusal  from  another 
female.  Ah  lu  the  being  iu  deetUlale  circuuistanceH,  I  cunuul  beiiuve  ii; 
for  Count  Gsmba,  her  brother,  whom  I  knew  very  well,  after  Lord  By- 
ron's death,  never  made  any  complaint  or  mention  of  such  a  fact:  add 
to  which,  I  knew  a  maintenance  was  provided  for  her,  by  her  husband, 
in  consequence  of  a  law  process,  before  the  death  of  Lord  Byron." 


ler  feelings,  in 
of  the  self-love 
word,  Madame 
r,  compressing 
id  fancying  she 
e  by  the  side  of 
ighorn,  she  was 
id  really  some- 
d  no  older  than 
ngular  change 
the  course  of  a 
ears." 

r  does  it  show 
r  of  character, 
i,  that  extraor- 
Her  conversa- 
being  learned, 
,nd  the  French 
s,  from  the  fear 
ly  because  she 
jression  of  Jef- 
3  that  her  petti- 

ed  to  her;  nor 

iprocal ;  but  in 

before  his  de- 

and  he  left  her, 

ulence  she  had 

.    He  had  pro- 

pounds  on  her, 

as  carried  into 

'  a  different  and 

,  but  she  told  a 

jord  Byron  and 


ion  is  not  correct, 
offered  to  give  the 
her  by  his  will.  I 
my  Buch  present  or 
ols  her  disinterest* 
fusal  ti-om  another 
caiiiiul  believe  iij 
ill,  after  Lord  By- 
if  BUch  a  fact :  add 
T,  by  her  husband, 
)rd  Byron." 


lORD  BYRON.  163 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Residence  in  Ravenna- -The  Carbonari.-Byron's  part  in  their  plot.-« 
I  hfl  murder  of  the  milit.iry  ^-ommandant.— Thfi  noPtirn1 1,«'>  "f  the  in- 
cident.—Marino  Faliero.  -Reflections.— The  prophecy  of  Dante. 

Lord  Bvron  has  said  himself,  ihat  except  Gree  ,  he  was 
never  so  attached  to  any  place  in  his  life  as  to  Raveiuia.  The 
peasantry  he  thought  tne  best  people  in  the  world,  and  the'r 
women  the  most  beautiful.  "  Those  at  Tivoli  and  Frcscati," 
said  he,  "  are  mere  Sabmes,  coarse  creatures,  compared  to  thp 
Romagnese.  You  may  t&lk  of  your  English  women ;  and  it 
IS  true,  that  out  of  one  hundred  Italian  and  English,  you  will 
find  thirty  of  the  latter  handsome  ;  but  then  there  WiU  be  one 
Italian  on  the  other  side  of  the  scale,  who  will  more  than  ba- 
lance  the  deficit  in  numbers— one  who,  like  the  Florence  Venus, 
has  no  rival,  and  can  have  none  in  the  north.  I  found  also  at 
Ravenna  much  education  and  liberality  of  thinking  among  the 
higher  classes.  The  climate  is  delightful.  I  was  not  broken 
m  upon  by  society.  Ravenna  lies  nut  of  the  way  of  travellers. 
I  was  never  tired  of  my  rides  ia  the  pine-forest :  it  breathes  of 
the  Decameron ;  it  is  poetical  ground.  Francc-sca  lived,  and 
Dante  was  exiled  and  died  at  Ravenna.  There  is  somethinff 
inspiring  in  such  an  air. 

"The  people  liked  me  as  much  as  they  hated  the  govern, 
ment.  It  is  not  a  little  to  say,  I  was  popular  with  all  the 
leaders  of  the  constitutional  party.  They  knew  that  I  came 
from  a  land  of  liberty,  and  wished  well  to  their  cause.  I 
would  have  espoused  it  too,  and  assisted  them  to  shake  .)fF 
their  fetters.  They  knew  my  character,  for  i  had  been  living 
two  years  at  Venice,  where  many  of  the  Ravennepg  have 
houses.  I  did  not,  however,  take  part  in  their  intrigues,  nor 
join  in  their  political  coteries ;  Lut  I  had  a  magazine  of  one 
hundred  stand  of  arms  in  the  house,  when  every  thing  was 
ripe  for  revolt— a  curse  on  Carignar  's  imbecility !  I  could 
have  pardoned  him  that,  too,  if  he  had  not  impeached  hi: 
partisans. 

"The  proscription  was  immense  in  Romagna,and  embraced 
-any  of  the  first  nobles ;  almost  all  my  fri^rnds,  among  the 
rest  the  Gambas,  (the  father  and  brother  of  the  Countess  Guic- 
«oh,)  who  took  no  part  in  the  affair,  were  included  in  it. 
They  were  exiled,  and  their  possessions  confiscated.  They 
knew  that  this  must  eventually  drive  me  oui  of  the  country.  I 
wd  not  follow  them  immediately ;  I  was  not  to  be  bullied— I 


i;  III 


1%. 


itf. 


164 


THE  LIFE  OP 


had  myself  fallen  under  the  eye  of  the  government    If  they 
could  have  got  sufficient  proof  they  vi^ould  have  arrested  me." 

The  latter  part  of  this  declaration  bears,  in  my  opmion,  m- 
dubitable  marks  ^f  being  genuine.  It  has  that  magnifying 
mysticism  abo'.c  it  which,  more  than  any  otlier  quality,  cha- 
racterized  Lord  Byron's  intimations  concerning  himself  and 
his  own  aiTairs ;  but  it  is  a  little  clearer  than  I  should  have 
expected,  in  the  acknowledgment  of  the  part  he  was  preparing 
to  take  in  the  insurrection.  He  does  not  seem  here  to  be  sen- 
sible,  that  in  confessing  so  much,  he  has  justified  the  jealousy 
with  which  he  was  regarded. 

"  Shortly  after  the  plot  was  discovced,"  he  proceeds  to  say, 
»♦  I  received  several  anonymous  letters,  advising  me  to  discon- 
tinue my  forest  rides ;  but  I  entertained  no  apprehensions  of 
treachery,  and  was  more  on  horseback  than  ever.  I  never  stir 
out  without  being  well  armed,  nor  sleep  without  pistols.  They 
knew  that  I  never  missed  my  aim ;  perhaps  this  saved  me." 

An  evei-i,  occurred  at  this  time  at  Ravenna  that  made  a 
deeo  impression  on  Lord  Byron.  The  commandant  of  the 
place,  .vho,  though  suspected  of  being  secretly  a  Carbonaro, 
was  too  powerful  a  man  to  be  arrested,  was  assassinated  oppo- 
site  to  his  residence.  The  measures  adopted  to  screen  tho 
murderer,  proved,  in  the  opinion  of  his  Lordship,  that  the  as- 
sassination  had  taken  place  by  order  of  the  police,  and  that 
the  pot  where  it  was  perpetrated  had  been  selected  by  choice. 
Byron  at  the  moment  had  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  and  his 
horsn  started  at  the  report  of  the  shot.  On  looking  round,  he 
saw  a  man  throw  down  a  carabine,  and  run  away,  and  an 
other  stretched  on  the  pavement  near  him.  On  hastening  to 
the  spot,  he  found  it  was  the  commandant ;  a  crowd  collected, 
but  no  one  offered  any  assistance.  His  Lordship  directed  his 
servant  to  lift  the  bleeding  body  into  the  palace— he  assisted 
himselfintheact,  though  it  was  represented  to  him  that  he 
mio-ht  incur  the  displeasure  of  the  government— and  the  gen- 
tleman  was  already  dead.  His  adjutant  followed  the  body  into 
the  house.  "  I  remember,"  says  his  Lordship,  "  his  lamenta- 
tion  over  him — 'Poor  devil!  he  would  not   have   harmed  a 

dog.' " 

It  was  from  the  murder  of  this  commandant  that  the  poet 
•ketched  the  scene  of  the  assassination  in  the  fifth  canto  of  Don 


JOttD. 


The  other  evening  ('twas  on  Friday  laet,) 

This  is  a  fact,  and  no  poetic  fable- 
Just  as  my  great  coat  was  about  me  cast. 

My  hat  and  gloves  still  lying  on  the  table, 
I  heard  a  shot— 'twas  eight  o'clock  scarce  pait, 
And  running  out  as  fast  as  I  was  able, 


LORD  BYRON.  165 

I  found  the  military  commandant 

Stretch'd  in  the  street,  and  able  scarce  to  pant. 

Poor  fellow!  for  some  reason,  surely  bad, 

Tn^riX^L^l'^  "^'"  "^'^^  ^""^  '"'g«'  ^n**  left  him  there 
10  perish  on  the  pavement :  so  I  had 

Him  borne  into  tlie  house,  and  up  the  stair : 
i--M,?'?"r'^^8^"®  • '"  some  Italian  quarrel 
Kill  d  by  five  bulie:^  from  an  old  gun-barrel. 

The jears  of  his  old  wounds  were  near  his  new. 
aI}?.^  honourable  scars  whi^h  bought  him  fame, 
And  horrid  was  the  contrast  to  the  view— 

But  let  me  quit  the  theme,  as  such  things  claim 
Perhaps  eVn  mon  attention  than  is  due 

From  me ;  I  gazed  (as  oft  I've  gazed  the  same) 
i»?u-^  ",  ^  *^°"''^  wrench  ought  out  of  death 
Which  should  confirm,  or  shake,  or  make  a  faith. 

Whether  Marino  Faliero  was  written  at  Ravenna  or  com- 
pleted there,  I  have  not  ascertained ;  but  it  was  planned  at  Ve- 
nice, and  as  far  oack  as  1817.  I  believe  this  is  considered 
about  the  most  ordmary  performance  of  all  Lord  Byron's 
works;  but  if  it  is  considered  with  reference  to  the  time  in 
which  It  was  written,  it  will  probably  be  found  to  ontain 
many  great  and  impressive  passages.  Has  not  the  latter  part 
of  the  second  scene  in  the  Hrst  act,  r-^ference  to  the  condition 
of  Venice  when  his  Lordship  was  there  ?  And  is  not  the  de- 
scription which  Israel  Bertuccio  gives  of  the  conspirators,  ap- 
plicable to,  as  it  was  probably  derived  from  the  Carbonari,  with 
whom  there  is  reacon  to  say  Byron  was  himself  disposed  to 
take  a  part  ?  "^ 

Know  then,  that  there  are  met  and  sworn  in  secret 

A  band  of  brethren,  valiant  hearts  and  true: 

Men  who  have  proved  all  fortunes,  and  have  Ions 

Grieved  over  that  of  Venice,  and  have  right 

To  do  so;  having  served  her  in  all  climes. 

And  having  rescued  her  from  foreign  foes, 

Would  do  the  same  for  those  within  her  walls. 

Ihey  are  not  numerous,  nor  yet  too  iew 

For  their  great  purpose:  they  have  arms,  and  means. 

And  hearts,  and  hopes,  and  faith,  and  patient  courage. 

This  drama,  to  be  properly  appreciated,  both  in  its  taste  and 
■eehng,  should  be  considered  as  addressed  to  the  Italians  -=rthe 
epoch  at  which  it  was  written.  Had  it  been  written  m  the 
Italian  instead  of  the  English  language,  and  could  have  come 
out  in  any  city  of  Italy,  the  effect  would  have  been  prodiffious. 
"18,  indeed,  a  work  not  to  be  estimatf.d  bv  tha  ,ici;„«!.:^^„ 

If  "f  ^^'''  "°''  ^^^  ^^'"'''^  "^  P«««'o"  expressed  in  it,  but  alto- 
gether by  the  apt  and  searching  sarcasm  of  the  political  allu- 
«on8.  Viewed  with  reference  to  the  time  and  place  in  which  it 

WhlT'u '  i*  r"?^  ^r^^^'^y  '^^'^''^^  *«  ^e  ranked  as  a 
"'gn  and  bold  effort :  simply  as  a  drama,  it  may  not  be  entitled 


166 


THE  'IFE  OP 


mf'-^ 


m% 


agedio 


of  the  se 


cond  or  third  class.    Brrtl 


to  ranfc  aDove  trag---.  -  -  .       ^  against  that  of  th« 

mean  not  to  set  my  op n  ion  ot  this  wo        ^  .^  posse    e? 

public,  the  English  pubhc  ;  a"  ^^^^^^^.^J  i^.'t  its  ,  hief  '.rag.o 

Uy  Pa--g^-f.rS:aHnXnatC^  l>"t  above  .U,  that  , 
merit  consists  in  its  Pol^^ical  in^A."  ^  .^^^^  ^e^a  cndea- 

5.  another  and  a  f;«"f  P;^[;^°:r  he  poet  .onsisted  in  givm, 
.  .-uring  to  show,  that  the  powc  oi  '     v  brethren,  or 

;Z  t?  his  own^eln^s^Jid  m.,  il^  1^^  ^,  ^^^,,^,^ 
,.x,on  his  less,  in  ti^o  "  ^'-^^'^^  °V:_ds  not  fit  to  suc-^ecd  m 
B.m«men.B,  it  ib,  perhaps,  ^^,f  .^^Se^'hat  it  ^..uld  not  be 
repr.>earati.n  .  but  ii  n.o  ^^  ^  ^^^^^.^  the  third  part,  a 
a  dimcdt  V.<K  to  m.,He  ^'^/^^^^'^^^  English  stage, 
tracody  ^hich  '^<^'^^^,f  ^'  ;^^^erstand  why  it  has  been  so 
I  have  never  >«7"  J  ^•^^'^J"^,,  actuated  in  the  composi. 

often  suiU^of  J  *'•'-'  ^^^'^xTmy  other  motive  than  enjoyment; 
tion  of  his  diffcront  works  by  any  «"       .  i^  Uvs  mind 

perhaps  no  poet  had  «-«.'•  ^^^^f^^^^  l^  applied 

Suring  the  fits  of  Jf P^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

correctly  to  him,  and  to  the  "^^"^^  ^"^^^  man.   Tho  o-  who 

to  writer  than  tins  singular  and  "nP^^^!^"„ .  ^^^  reverence  due 

fmlgine  that  he  had  any  J^^^re    ofTra   a^^^        give  him 
to  religion,  or  to  weaken  the  binges  ot  mo  ^^^^  ^^ 

'reditV  far  more  ^^ff^S^^fk J^Sng^f  the  m^ 
possessed.    They  could  ^^'^^^^^^^"^'?g^^^^^^    to  every  thing,  was 
S^ain  defect  o^^:f^o.ech.r.^.^n^^^^  ^^  ^  He 

in  having  too  little  of  the  ewmeni  or  p      ^^     ^^  either  sad 
vvas  a  tWng  of  impulses   ^^^^  judge  o^  w^^ 
or  did,  as  the  results  of  Pf/Si/vTrtotaUg^orance  of  his  cha- 

the  harshest  inJ^^^V^'^t  Ifdfrklt  coTrUlf  those  flights  and 
racter.   His  whole  fault,  he  da  kestco  „  him  the 

deviations  from  P'^^P^^Y^^^' the  u„bridled  state  of  his  im- 
severest  animadversion,  lay  in  the  unor  ^^^^^ 

'pul  es.    He  felt,  but  never  reason  d     I  am  le^^^^  .^^ 

£fmtsntt^^^  MloSXe^  Life  and  Writings  of 
Lord  Byron.  «r  Tiante  I  am  no  particular  ad'  "  «''-    ^^ 

Snd  clang  of  the    -^  1  it' iTsesses, abstracter,    .to 
too  obscure ;  anu  tai>agh  ^^  P^^^es     ,  ^^ 

thoughts,  and  fJXe   yet  it  wiU  never  be  j 
^^  ^«g^^^i!!";5it  JrJ^ious  poetical  expi 


It  x-ifns  y 
Giiict  ioli,  U 
harmoniorsa 
tliip  ruggeti 
ira'u  hims'? 
predated  b 
of  Dante  aj 
however  m 
ment,  h'"  fe 
btieu  s^oi^et 


i.» 


X^tLX^^i'^^^^^^i-^-- 


i.inr.    It 
utthe 

;  i^  clink 

ecy,  it  is 

.„ .  j'lanyfino 

.?<•.  passion  to 

^.    It  is  a 


The  tragedy 

Among 
Lord  Byre 
the  chief, 
than  any 
the  dang< 
essence  o 
much  of 
taught  by 
duty.    1 1 
resemblar 
appeared 
tho  chara 
has  some 
nobler  co 
The  A 
highly  ei 
yet  softei 
i  him  und 
jects  in  t 
to  consis 
selves  frc 
strongesl 
act,  thou 
him;  at 

—  t   1    ' 


LOHD  BYRON. 


167 


:lass.  B'Mt  I 
t  that  of  the 
it  ;t posse  ;{? 
5 « hief  irugic 
)ve  ill,  that  I 
B  been  cndea- 
3ted  in  givin;: 
t  brethren,  or 

to  succeed  in 

;  \vv)uui  not  be 

e  third  part,  a 

stage. 

it  has  been  so 

n  the  composi- 

aneniviyment; 

ose  in  Uis  mind 
may  le  applied 
r&s  accu  itomed 
111.   The. :«  who 
J  reverence  due 
.ction,  give  him 
urpose  than  he 
of  the  man,  the 
svery  thing,  was 
Df  purpose.    He 
at  he  either  said 
s  not  only  to  do 
ranee  of  his  cha. 

those  flights  and 
X  upon  him  the 
state  of  his  im- 
ed  to  make  these 
more  justly,  the 
ante,  which  was 
in  treated  by  the 
and  Writings  of 

ularad-  nnr.    It 

igener         'itt^J 

fuapt  ^^  -i^       . 
j.     r-.     ecy, »" 
5t::-,to. -lanyfine 
!•  i,,    .u'.  passion  w 

6  JO 

cprc&i,. 


It    ,„  written  at  Ravenna,  and  at  the  ™Sg"'™  "^  ^° 
'■.rr^iiuiTalrlycl^i.W^^ 

'r^!^«^L;nrowrext'd™7ol.st  condition     For. 
of  Dante  apply  to  '^^^  °V^ '      ,f. .,         ^j^  j.  of  h  s  own  banish- 

S'°h.  fe^^'Xrho  frLth°a«^ty  verse,  that  he  had 

beovi  ffOiaetiKtCS  shunned. 


,   (;..-■ 


It  is  a 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

»e  .ra,o.v  of  ^^^S^Si^^HS^""  "  '^'^  ■"'°"'' 
A„o™  .he  mental  ™joyme"tsjWeh  "jndeared  R=^^^^^^^^ 

rar.el'i'.X^^  ».e:  it  .eathee  the  ver. 

taught  by  the  consequences  enjoyment  might^^       ^^^^  ^^^ 
duty.    I  have  never  been  able    °  ^^J^f  y^^^      j^  has  always 

nobler  conception  of  the  two.  Denmark,  is- 

The  Assyrian  monarch   1  ke  ^Je   t-r^^^^^^^  ^  j^^  j^ 

highly  endowed,  capable  of  ^^^^/J^^^f  ^^^  "°.,„e  thit  makes 
yet  softened  by  a  philosophic  '^^f^^^^^TndTtiiZ  ob- 
L  undervalue  the  enterprises  of  ^™^f  °^'  "[^f  ^  ^^pposed 
jects  in  the  attainment  of  which  so  "luch  ot  g^°jy  ^^.  P{j;^^ 
l  consist.     They  are  both  aUke  m^ab^^^^^^^^  rousing^^^  ^^^ 

',  ,  .      *_-,.  ♦«  „«  onnnlitV  With  the  gOdS. 

tSiiiJu  UiS  auucDiuis  iv  ••-•-  — 1 J 

Thou  wouldst  have  me  go 
rort.i  as  a  conqueror.-By  all  the  su^^^^^ 
Which  the  Chaldeans  read!  the  restless siave* 


I  i 


-^^^v 


J..  II , 


168  THE  LIFE  OP 

Deserve  that  T  should  curse  them  with  their  wishes 
And  lead  them  forth  to  glory. 

Again : 

The  ungrateful  and  ungracious  slaves!  they  murmur 

Because  I  have  not  shed  their  blood,  nor  led  them 

To  dry  into  the  deserts'  dust  by  myriads, 

Or  whiten  with  their  bones  the  banks  of  Ganges, 

Nor  decimated  them  with  savage  laws. 

Nor  sweated  them  to  build  up  pyramids 

Or  Babylonian  walla. 

The  nothingness  of  kingly  greatness  and  national  pride  wers 

never  before  so  finely  contemned  as  by  tlie  voluptuous  Assyrian; 

and  were  the  scorn  not  mitigated  by  the  skilful  intermixture 

of  mercifulness  and  philanthropy,  the  character  would  not  be 

endurable.     But  when  the  same  voice  which  pronounced  con. 

tempt  on  tlie  toils  of  honour  says, 

Enouga 
For  me,  if  I  can  make  my  subjects  feel 
The  weight  of  human  misery  less, 

it  is  impossible  to  repress  the  liking  which  the  humane  spirit 
of  that  thought  is  calculated  to  inspire.  Nor  is  there  any  want 
of  dignity  in  Sardanapalus,  even  when  lolling  soflest  in  his 
luxury. 

Must  I  consume  my  life— this  little  life — 
In  guarding  against  all  may  make  it  less  I 
It  is  not  worth  so  much.— It  were  to  die 
Before  my  hour,  to  live  in  dread  of  death.  *  »  * 
Till  now  no  drop  of  an  Assyrian  vein 
Hath  flow'd  for  me,  nor  hath  the  smallest  coin 
Of  Nineveh's  vast  treasures  e'er  been  lavish'd 
On  objects  which  could  cost  her  sons  a  tear. 
If  then  they  hate  me  'tis  because  I  hate  not ; 
If  they  rebel  'tis  because  I  oppress  not. 

This  is  imagined  in  the  true  tone  of  Epicurean  virtue,  and 

it  rises  to  magnanimity  when  he  adds  in  compassionate  scorn, 

Oh,  men !  ye  must  be  ruled  with  scythes,  not  sceptres, 
And  mow'd  down  like  the  grass,  else  all  we  reap 
Is  rank  abundance,  and  a  rotten  harvest 
Of  discontents,  infecting  the  fair  soil, 
Making  a  desert  of  fertility. 

But  the  graciousness  in  the  conception  of  the  character  of 
Sardanapalus,  is  not  to  be  found  only  in  these  sentiments  of 
his  meditations,  but  in  all  and  every  situation  in  which  the 
character  is  placed.  When  Salamenes  bids  him  not  sheath  his 
sword — 

'Tis  the  sole  sceptTe  left  you  now  with  safety. 
The  king  replies — 

"  A  heavy  one ;"  and  subjoins,  as  if  to  conceal  his  distaste  f(W 
war,  by  ascribing  a  dislike  to  the  sword  itself— 
The  hilt,  too,  hurts  my  hand. 


LORD  BYRON. 


169 


r  wishM 


y  murmur 
Ithem 

anges, 


.tional  pride  wera 
ptuous  Assyrian ; 
Iful  intermixture 
cter  would  not  be 
pronounced  con- 


he  humane  spirit 
s  there  any  want 
ng  soflest  in  his 


»  *  * 

coin 
sh'd 

r. 

iirean  virtue,  and 

ipassionate  scorn, 

lot  sceptres, 
re  reap 


the  character  of 
ise  sentiments  of 
ion  in  which  the 
im  not  sheath  his 

'eiy, 

teal  his  distaste  for 
f— 


It  may  be  asked  why  I  dwell  bo  particularly  on  the  charac- 
ter of  Sardanapalus.  It  is  admitted  that  he  is  the  most  heroic 
of  voluptuaries,  the  most  philosophical  of  the  licentious.  The 
first  he  is  undoubtedly,  but  he  is  not  licentious  ;  and  in  omit- 
ting to  make  him  so,  the  poet  has  prevented  his  readers  from 
disliking  his  character  upon  principle.  It  was  a  skilful  stroke 
of  art  to  do  this ;  had  it  been  otlicrwise,  and  had  there  been 
no  affection  shown  for  the  Ionian  slave,  Sardanapalus  would 
have  engaged  no  sympathy.  It  is  not,  however,  with  respect 
to  the  ability  with  which  the  character  has  been  imagined,  nor 
to  the  poetry  with  which  it  is  invested,  that  I  have  so  particu- 
larly made  it  a  subject  of  criticism ;  it  was  to  point  out  how 
much  in  it  Lord  Byron  has  interwoven  of  his  own  best  nature. 

At  the  time  when  he  was  occunied  with  this  great  work,  he 
was  confessedly  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  happiest  portion  of 
his  life.  The  Guiccioli  was  to  him  a  Myrrha»but  the  Carbo- 
nari were  around,  and  in  the  controversy,  in  which  Sardana- 
palus is  engaged,  between  the  obligations  of  his  royalty  and 
his  inclinations  for  pleasure,  we  have  a  vivid  insight  of  the 
cogitation  of  the  poet,  whether  to  take  a  part  in  the  hazardous 
activity  which  they  were  preparing,  or  to  remain  in  the  seclu- 
sion and  festal  repose  of  which  he  was  then  in  possession.  The 
Assyrian  is  as  much  Lord  Byron  as  Childe  Harold  was,  and 
bears  his  lineaments  in  as  clear  a  likeness,  as  a  voluptuary 
unsated  could  do  those  of  the  emaciated  victim  of  satiety.  Over 
the  whole  drama,  and  especially  in  some  of  the  speeches  of 
Sardanapalus,  a  great  deal  of  fine,  but  irrelevant  poetry  and 
moral  reflection  has  been  profusely  spread ;  but  were  the  piece 
adapted  to  the  stage,  these  portions  would  of  course  be  omitted, 
and  the  character,  denuded  of  them,  would  then  more  fully 
justify  the  idea  which  I  have  formed  of  it,  than  it  may  perhaps 
to  many  readers  do  at  present,  hidden  as  it  is,  both  in  shape 
and  contour,  under  an  excess  of  ornament. 

That  the  character  of  Myrrha  was  also  drawn  from  life,  and 
that  the  Guiccioli  was  the  model,  I  have  no  doubt.  She  had, 
when  most  enchanted  by  her  passion  for  Byron — at  the  very 
time  when  the  drama  was  written — many  sources  of  regret ; 
and  he  was  too  keen  an  observer,  and  of  too  jealous  a  nature, 
not  to  have  marked  every  shade  of  change  in  her  appearance, 
and  her  every  moment  of  melancholy  reminiscence ;  so  that, 
even  though  she  v  ight  never  have  given  expression  to  her  sen- 
timents, still  such  was  her  sj'v*  ion,  that  it  could  not  but  fur- 
nish him  with  fit  suggestir  ^  om  which  to  fill  up  the  moral 
being  of  the  Ionian  slave.  Were  the  character  of  Myrrha 
scanned  witli  this  reference,  while  nothing  could  be  discovered 
to  detract  from  the  value  of  the  composition,  a  great  deal  would 


170 


THE  LIFE  OP 


sX'^' 


in 


be  found  to  lof»«irn  fhc  mrr.'t^oi"  the  poet's  invention.    He  had 

■with  him  the     ry  ^'fi'-g  in  person  whom  he  has  depicted  in 

the  drama,  n'  dispositions  and  endowments  greatly  similar,  and 

in  circumstiuices  in  which  she  could  not  but  feel  as  Myrrha  is 

supposed  to  hav-3  felt : — and  it  must  be  admitted,  that  he  has 

applied  the  good  fortune  of  that  incident  to  a  beautiful  purpose, 

This,  however,  is  not  all  that  the  '  a     ^y  possesses  of  the 

author.     The  character  of  Zuraia,  is,  perhaps,  l  •  on  sull  more 

strikingly  drawn  from  life.    The  re  are  many  touches  in  the 

scene  with  her  which  he  could  not  have  imagined,  without 

tliiaking  of  his  own  domestic  disasters.    The  first  sentiment 

«L.  utters  is  truly  conceived  in  the  very  frame  and  temper  in 

wlanh  Byron  must  have  wished  his  lady  to  think  of  himself, 

»nd  he  could  not  embody  it  without  feeling  that — 

How  many  a  year  has  past, 
Though  we  are  still  so  young,  since  we  have  met, 
Which  I  have  borne  in  widowhood  of  heart. 

The  following  delicate  expression  has  reference  to  his  having 

left  his  daughter  with  her  mother,  and  unfolds  more  of  his 

secret  feelings  on  the  subjer'  tliaii  any  thing  he  has  exprep~qd 

more  ostentatiously  elsewhere : 

I  wish'd  to  thank  you,  that  you  have  not  divided 
Is'if  heart  from  all  that's  '"ft  it  now  to  love. 

And  what  F'.rdanapalus  says  of  his  children  is  not  less  ap 

■  plicable  to  Byron,  and  is  true  : 

Deem  not 
I  have  not  done  you  jut  lice ;  rather  make  them 
Resemble  your  own  lint,  than  their  own  sire; 
I  trust  them  with  you— to  y  u. 

And  when  2    ^aa  sn"  ., 

They  no  er 
Shall  know  from  me  aught  but  what  may  honour 
Their  father's  memory, 

he  puts  in  her  m  ain  only  a  senti'^ont  which  Hq  knew,  if  his 
wife  never  expressed  to  him,  she  prqfoundly  acknowledged  in 
resolution  to  herself  The  whole  of  his  scene  is  iall  of  the 
most  penetrating  pathos;  and  did  aie  drama  not  contjui,  in 
every  page,  indubitable  evici  ■'e  to  me,  that  he  has  shadowed 
out  in  it  himself,  his  wife,  c  is  istress,  this  littln  interview 
would  prove  a  vest  deal  in  •;  ifin  ion  of  the  opinion  so  often 
expressed,  that  where  his  g-nius  was  most  in  its  element,  it 
was  when  it  dealt  with  hist  own  sensibilities  and  circ-ristaaeer 
It  is  impossible  to  read  the  following  speech,  without  aconv'tioD 
that  it  was  written  at  Lady  Byron  : 

My  gentle  wrong'd  Zcrina ! 
I  am  the  very  slave  of  circumstance 
And  impulse— borne  away  with  every  breath  I 


ithoutaconv  "tion 


LORD  BYRON. 

Misplaced  upon  the  thronn— misplacefl  in  life. 

I  know  not.  what  I  could  have  teen,  but  feel 

1  am  not  What  I  should  be— let  it  end, 

But  take  this  with  tine :  if  I  was  not  form  d 

To  prize  a  love  like  thine— a  mind  like  thine— 

Nor  dote  even  on  thy  teauty— as  I've  doted 

On  lesser  charms,  for  no  cause  save  that  such 

Devotion  was  a  duty,  and  1  hated 

All  that  look'd  like  a  chain  for  me  or  others, 

(This  even  rcbi  llion  must  avouch;)  yet  hear 

TheHc  words,  f  i  liaps  among  my  last -that  none 

E'er  valued  moio  thy  virtues,  though  he  knew  not 

To  profit  by  tljem. 
At  HavenT!    Cain  was  also  written ;  a  dramatic  poem,  in  some 
deffrec,  chic'ly  in  its  boldness,  resemi/ling  the  ancient  mysteries 
of  thn  monasteries  l)efore  the  secular  stage  wag  established. 
This  u!  rformance,  in  point  of  conception,  is  of      ubhme  order. 
The  object  of  the  poem  is  to  illustrate  the  energy  and  the  art 
of  Lucifer  in  accomplishing  the  ruin  of  the  first-born.    By  an 
unfair  misconception,  the  arguinents  of  Lucifer  have  been  re- 
presented  as  the  sentiments  of  the  author,  upon  some  imaginMy 
warrantry  deriv-d  from  the  exaggerated  freedom  of  his  life; 
and  yet  tlij  moral  tendency  of  the  reflections  are  framed  m  a 
mood  of  revf  ence  as  awful  towards  Omnipotence  as  the  austere 
divinity  of  J.    ton.    It  would  be  presumption  in  me,  however, 
to  undertake  .i.e  defence  of  any  question  in  theology ;  but  I 
have  not  been  s.     ible  to  the  imputed  impiety,  whilst  I  have 
felt  in  many  pr  -  .  es  influences  that  have  their  being  amidst 
the  shadows  and  twiligl  ^s  of  "old  religion," 

ipendous  spirits 
That  mock  the  in       of  man,  and  people  space 
With  life  and  mystical  i-redominance." 

The  morning  hymns  and  worship  with  which  the  mystery 
opens  are  grave,  solemn,  and  scriptural,  and  the  dialogue 
which  follows  with  Cain  is  no  less  so :  his  opinion  of  the  tree 
of  life  is,  I  believe,  orthodox;  but  it  is  daringly  expressed: 
indeed,  all  the  sentiments  ascribed  to  Cain  ai  e  but  the  questions 
of  the  sceptics.  His  description  of  the  approach  of  Lucifer 
would  have  shone  in  th"  Paradise  Lost. 

A  shape  like  to  the  ansfels, 

Yet  of  ;i  sterner  and  a  -iidder  aspect. 

Of  spiritual  epspnce.    Why  do  I  quake  ? 

Why  should  I  fear  him  more  than  other  HpiritB 

Whom  I  see  daily  wave  their  fiery  sswords 

Rftfore  the  eates  round  which  I  linger  oft 

In  twilight's  hour,  to  cntch  a  Kii"'l'B<^  uiijiose 

Gardens  which  are  my  just  inht ntance,        • 

Ere  thp   iiijht  closes  o'er  the  inhabited  walls, 

And  thi;  immortal  trees  which  overtop 

•  lip  cherubim-defended  battlements? 

1  shrink  not  from  these,  the  flre-aim'd  angeUi. 


1 1 


(i 


lie 


173 


THE  LIFE  OF 


Why  Rhould  I  quuil  rrom  him  who  now  approaches? 
Yet  he  scenia  mightier  far  than  them,  nor  leaa 
Beauteous;  and  yet  not  all  as  beautiful 
Aa  he  hatb  Seen,  or  might  be  :  sorrow  seems 
Half  of  hi    immortality. 

There  is  somethinj^  spiritually  fine  in  this  conception  of  the 
terror  or  presentiment  of  coining  evil.  The  poet  rises  to  the 
Bublime  in  making  Lncifer  first  inspire  Cain  with  the  know- 
ledge of  his  immortality — a  portion  of  truth  which  hath  the 
eflicacy  of  falsehood  upon  the  victim;  for  Cain,  feeling  himself 
already  unhappy,  knowing  that  his  being  cannot  be  abridged, 
has  tlie  less  scruple  to  desire  to  be  as  Lucifer,  "mighty." 
The  whole  speech  of  Lucifer,  beginning, 
Soula  who  date  use  their  immortality, 
is  li'ily  Satanic ;  a  daring  and  dreadful  description  given  by 
eve;  lasting  despair  of  the  Deity. 

But  notwithstanding  its  manifold  immeasurable  imaginations, 
Cain  is  only  a  polemical  controversy,  the  doctrines  of  which 
might  have  been  better  discussed  in  the  pulpit  of  a  college 
chapel.  As  a  poem,  it  is  greatly  unequal ;  many  passages 
consist  of  mere  metaphysical  disquisition ;  but  there  are  others 
of  wonderful  scope  and  energy.  It  is  a  thing  of  doubts,  and 
creams,  and  reveries — dim  and  beautiful,  yet  withal  full  of 
terrors.  The  understanding  finds  nothing  tangible ;  but  amidst 
dread  and  solemnity,  sees  only  a  shapen  darkness  with  eloquent 
gestures.  It  is  an  argument  invested  with  the  language  of 
oracles  and  omens,  conceived  in  some  religious  trance,  and 
addressed  to  spirits. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Removal  to  Pisa.—The  Lanfranchi  Palace.— Affair  with  the  guard  at 
Pisa.— Removal  to  Monte  Nero.— Junction  with  Mr.  Hunt.— Mr.  Shel- 
ley's letter. 

The  unhappy  distrusts  and  political  jealousies  of  the  times 
obliged  Lord  Byron,  with  the  Gambas,  the  family  of  the  Guic- 
cioli,  to  remove  from  Ravenna  to  Pisa.  In  this  compulsion  he 
had  no  cause  to  complain  ;  a  foreigner  meddling  with  the  poli. 
tics  of  the  country  in  which  he  was  only  accidentally  resident, 

v-.'tii«  vjipvA-'t/   iJ*/  •tvt"-*t  •- -St  f»^*«    ..^.^Bjj. ■..,,,.,  .._,„.»_•■••  .......    «..>^  £>"■* 

It  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question  whether  his  Lordship 
was  right  or  wrong  in  his  principles.  The  government  was  in 
the  possession  of  the  power,  and  in  self-defence  he  could  expect 
no  other  course  towards  him  than  what  he  id  experience.  He 
was  admonished  to  retreat:  he  did  so.    Could  he  have  done 


proacheflt 


anception  of  the 
poet  rises  to  the 
with  the  know- 
which  hath  the 
,  feeling  himself 
lot  be  abridged, 
ifer,   "mighty." 


iption  given  by 

>le  imaginations, 
trines  of  which 
pit  of  a  college 
many  passages 
there  are  others 
r  of  doubts,  and 
;  withal  full  of 
ible ;  but  amidst 
ss  with  eloquent 
;he  language  of 
3US  trance,  and 


I'ith  the  guard  at 
.  Hunt.— Mr.  Shel- 


ies  of  the  times 
ily  of  the  Guic- 
3  compulsion  he 
g  with  the  poli- 
mtally  resident^ 
'.he  0"oyerninentt 
r  his  Lordship 
ernment  was  in 
he  could  expect 
experience.  He 
d  he  have  done 


LORD  BYROW. 


n» 


otherwise,  he  would  not.    He  would  have  used  the  Austriar* 

authority  as  ill  as  ho  was  made  to  feel  it  did  him. 
In  the  autumn  of  1821,  Lord  Byron  removed  from  Ravenns 

to  Pisa,  where  ho  hired  the  Lanfranchi  palace  for  a  year—one^ 

of  those  massy  marble  piles  which  appear — 
"  So  old,  as  if  they  had  for  ever  stood— 
So  strong,  as  if  they  would  for  ever  stand." 

Both  in  aspect  and  character  it  was  interesting  to  the  boding- 
fancies  of  the  noble  tenant.  It  is  said  to  have  been  constructed 
from  a  design  of  Michael  Angelo;  and  in  the  grandeur  of  its 
features  exhibits  a  bold  and  colossal  style  not  unworthy  of  his 
genius. 

The  Lanfranchi  family,  in  the  time  of  Dante,  were  distin- 
guished in  the  factions  of  those  days,  and  one  of  them  has  re- 
ceived his  meed  of  immortality  from  the  poet,  as  the  persecutor 
of  Ugolino.  They  are  now  extinct,  and  their  traditionary 
reputation  is  illustrated  by  the  popular  belief  in  the  neighbour, 
hood,  that  their  ghosts  are  restless,  and  still  haunt  their  former 
gloomy  and  gigantic  liabitation. 

The  building  was  too  vast  for  the  establishment  of  Lord 
Byron,  and  he  occupied  only  the  first  floor. 

The  life  he  led  at  this  period  was  dull  and  unvaried.  Bil- 
liards,  conversation,  reading,  and  occasionally  writing,  consti- 
luted  the  regular  business  of  the  day.  In  the  cool  of  the  after- 
noon, he  sometimes  went  out  in  his  carriage,  oftener  on  horse- 
back,  and  generally  amused  himself  with  pistol  practice  at  a 
five  paul  piece.  He  dined  at  half  an  hour  after  sunset,  and 
then  drove  to  Count  Gamba's,  where  he  passed  several  hours 
with  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  who  at  that  time  still  resided  with 
her  father.  On  his  return  he  read  or  wrote  till  the  night  was 
far  spent,  or  rather  till  the  morning  was  come  again,  sipping 
at  intervals  spirits  diluted  with  water,  as  medicine  to  counter- 
act  some  nephritic  disorder  to  which  he  considered  himself 
liable. 

Notwithstanding  the  tranquillity  of  this  course  of  life,  he  was 
accidentally  engaged  in  a  transaction  which  threatened  un- 
pleasant consequences,  and  had  a  material  effect  on  his  com- 
fort. On  the  21st  of  March,  1822,  as  ho  whs  returning  from 
m  usual  ride,  in  company  wiih  several  of  hif*  friends,  a  hussar 
officer,  at  full  speed,  dashed  Jhrough  the  party,  and  violently 
jOstied  one  of  iliem.  Lord  iiyion,  with  his  characteristic  im- 
petuosity, instantly  pushed  forward,  and  the  rest  followed,  and 
overtook  the  hussar.  His  Lordship  inquired  what  he  meant  by 
the  insult;  but  for  answer,  received  the  grossest  abuse:  on 
which  he  and  one  of  his  companions  gave  their  cards,  and 
passed  on.    The  ofHcr-  followed,  hallooing,  and  threatening 

F  <« 


174 


THE  LIFE  OP 


■  .#1 , 


with  his  hand  on  his  sabre.  They  were  now  near  the  Paggia 
gate.  During  this  altercation,  a  common  artilleryman  inter- 
fered,  and  called  out  to  the  hussar,  "  Why  don't  you  arrest 
them  ? — command  us  to  arrest  them."  Upon  which  the  officer 
gave  the  word  to  the  guard  at  the  gato.  His  Lordship  hearing 
the  order,  spurred  his  horse,  and  one  of  his  party  doing  the 
same,  they  succeeded  in  forcing  their  way  through  the  soldiers, 
whilst  the  gate  was  closed  on  the  rest  of  the  party,  with  whom 
an  outrageous  scuffle  ensued. 

Lord  Byron,  on  reaching  his  palace,  gave  directions  to  in. 
form  the  police  ;  and,  not  seeing  his  companions  coming  up, 
rode  back  towards  the  gate.  On  his  way  the  huiSfsar  met  him, 
and  said,  "  Are  you  satisfied  ?"  "  No :  tell  me  your  name  !" 
"  Serjeant  Major  Masi."  One  of  his  Lordship's  servants,  who 
at  this  moment  joined  them,  seized  the  hussar's  horse  by  the 
bridle ;  but  his  master  commanded  him  to  let  it  go.  The  hussar 
then  spurred  his  horse  through  the  crowd,  which  by  this  time 
had  collected  in  front  of  the  Lanfranch'.  Palace,  and  in  the  at 
tempt  was  wounded  by  a  pitchfork.  Several  of  the  servants 
were  arrested,  and  imprisoned ;  end,  during  the  investigation 
of  the  affair  before  the  police.  Lord  Byron's  house  was  eur. 
rounded  by  the  dragoons  belonging  to  Serjeant-major  Masi's 
troop,  who  threatened  to  force  the  doors.  The  result  upon 
these  particulars  was  not  just ;  all  Lord  Byron's  Italian  ser- 
vants were  banished  from  Pisa ;  and  with  them  the  father  and 
brother  of  the  Guiccioli,  who  had  no  concern  whatever  in  the 
affair.  Lord  Byron  himself  was  also  advised  to  quit  the  town, 
and,  as  the  Countess  accompanied  her  father,  he  soon  after 
joined  them  at  Leghorn,  and  passed  six  weeks  at  Monte  ^ero, 
a  country-house  in  the  vicinity  of  that  city. 

It  was  during  his  Lordship's  residence  at  Monte  Nero,  that 
an  event  took  place — his  junction  with  Mr.  Leigh  Hunt — 
which  had  some  effect  both  on  his  literary  and  his  moral  repii- 
tation.  Previous  to  his  departure  from  England,  there  had  been 
some  intercourse  between  them — Byron  had  been  introduced  by 
Moore  to  Hunt,  when  the  latter  was  suffering  imprisonment 
for  the  indiscretion  of  his  pen,  and  by  his  civility  had  en- 
ccuraged  him,  perhaps,  into  some  degree  of  forgetfulness  as  to 
their  respective  situations  in  society. — Mr.  Hunt,  at  no  period 
of  their  acquaintance,  appears  to  have  been  sufficiently  sensi- 
Die  tnirX  a  niaii  ot  positive  rank  lias  it  always  iti  IiIh  puwer, 
without  giving  any  thing  l-ke  such  a  degree  of  offence  as  may 
be  resented  otherwise  than  by  estrangement,  to  inflict  mortifi- 
cation, and,  in  consequence,  presumed  too  much  to  an  equality 
with  his  Lordship — at  least  this  is  the  impression  his  conduct 
made  upon  me,  from  the  familiarity  of  his  dedicatory  epistle 


«'M 

"  Sine 

Byron  al 

tion  on  I 

finest  pa 

part  of  n 

give  you, 

—for  sui 

shattered 

mild,  of  ( 

"  He  p 

and  me  : 

each  of  tl 

com  posit! 

but  for  so 

be  no  doi 

Lord  Byr 

sons,  be  v 

a  sort  of 

other,  am 

vvith  a  sec 

fiothing  w 

in  the  }jor 

in  differei 

different  i 

wpufation 


near  the  Paggia 
tilleryman  inter, 
don't  you  arrest 
which  the  officer 
Lordship  hearing 

party  doing  the 
)ugh  the  soldiers, 
arty,  with  whom 

directions  to  in. 
lions  coming  up, 
hubsar  met  him, 
ne  your  name !" 
)'s  servants,  who 
ar's  horse  by  the 
t  go.  The  hussar 
lich  by  this  time 
:e,  and  in  the  at 

of  the  servants 
the  investigation 

house  was  tur. 
mt-major  Masi's 
["he  result  upon 
•on's  Italian  ser. 
n  the  lather  and 

whatever  in  the 
io  quit  the  town, 
r,  he  soon  after 

at  Moute  J^ero, 

fonte  Nero,  that 
Leigh  Hunt— 
I  his  moral  repu- 
1,  there  had  been 
in  introduced  by 
g  imprisonment 
civility  had  en- 
rgetfulness  as  to 
nt,  at  no  period 
ifficiently  sensi- 
H  ill  hia  power, 
'  offence  as  may 
o  inflict  mortin- 
h  to  an  equality 
ion  his  conduct 
jdicatory  epistle 


LORD  BYRON. 


176 


prefixed  to  Rimini,  to  their  riding  out  at  Pisa  together,  dressed 
alike—"  We  had  blue  frock-coats,  white  waistcoats  and  trou. 
sers,  and  velvet  caps,  a  la  Raphael,  and  cut  a  gallant  figure." 
I  do  not  discover  on  the  part  of  Lord  Byron,  that  his  Lordship 
ever  forgot  his  rank;  nor  was  he  a  personage  likely  to  do  so; 
m  saymg,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Hunt  presumed  upon  his  conde. 
scension,  I  judge  entirely  by  his  own  statement  of  facts.  I  am 
not  undertakmg  a  defence  of  his  Lordship,  for  the  manner  in 
which  he  acted  towards  Mr.  Hunt;  because  it  appears  to  me  to 
have  been,  in  many  respects,  mean ;  but  I  do  think  there  was 
an  original  error,  a  misconception  of  himself  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Hunt,  that  drew  down  upon  him  a  degree  of  humiliation 
that  he  might,  by  more  self-respect,  have  avoided.  However,  I 
shall  endeavour  to  give  as  correct  a  summary  of  the  whole 
affair  as  the  mateiials  before  me  will  justify. 

The  occasion  of  Hunt's  removal  to  Italy  will  be  best  explain. 
ed  by  quoting  the  letter  from  his  friend  Shelley,  by  which  he 
was  induced  to  take  that  obviously  imprudent  step. 

,,     ,  *' Pisa,  Aug.  26,  imi. 

"My  dearest  friend,  ^       ' 

"  Since  I  last  wrote  to  you,  I  have  been  on  a  visit  to  Lord 
Byron  at  Ravenna.  The  result  of  this  visit  was  a  determina- 
tion  on  his  part  to  con-e  and  live  at  Pisa,  and  I  have  taken  the 
finest  palace  on  the  Lung'  Arno  for  him.  But  the  material 
part  of  my  vi.,it  consists  in  a  message  wh3.ch  he  desires  me  to 
give  you,  ai)d  which  I  think  ought  to  add  to  your  determination 
—for  such  a  •  ne  I  hope  you  have  formed — of  restoring  your 
shattered  h:!ttli'i  and  spirits  by  a  migration  to  these  'regions 
raild,  of  calm  and  serene  air.' 

"  He  proposes  that  you  should  come,  and  go  shares  with  him 
and  me  in  a  periodical  work  to  be  conducted  here,  in  which 
f'ach  of  the  contracting  parties  should  publish  all  their  original 
compositions,  and  share  the  profits.  He  proposed  it  to  Moore, 
but  for  some  reason  it  was  never  brought  to  bear.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  the  profits  of  any  scheme  in  which  you  and 
Lord  Byron  engage,  must,  from  various  yet  co-operating  rea- 
sons, be  very  great.  As  to  myself,  I  am,  for  the  present,  only 
a  sort  of  link  between  yon  and  him,  until  you  can  know  each 
other,  and  effectuate  the  arrangement;  since  (to  intrust  vou 
vviia  a  secret,  which  for  your  sake  1  withhold  from  Lord  Byron) 
nothing  would  induce  me  to  share  in  the  profits,  and  still  less 
in  the  l^rrowed  splendour  of  such  a  partnership.  You  a>.»d  he, 
jin  different  manners,  would  be  equal,  and  would  bring,  in  a 
afferent  manner,  but  in  the  same  proportion,  equal  stocks  of 
wputation  and  success.     Do  not  let  my  frankness  with  you, 


'  •<  4 


Hiir-. 


176 


THE  LIFE   OP 


nor  my  belief  that  you  deserve  it  more  than  Lord  Byron,  have 
the  efFect  of  deterring  you  from  assuming  a  station  in  modern 
literature,  which  the  universal  voice  of  my  contemporaries  for- 
bids  me  either  to  stoop  or  aspire  to.  I  am,  and  I  desire  to  be 
nothing. 

"  I  did  not  ask  Lord  Byron  to  assist  me  m  sendmg  a  remit- 
tance  for  your  journey  ;  because  there  are  men,  however  excel- 
lent,  from  whom  we  would  never  receive  an  obligation  in  the 
worldly  sense  of  the  word ;  and  I  am  as  jealous  for  my  friend 
as  for  myself.  I,  as  you  know,  have  it  not ;  but  I  suppose  that 
at  last  I  shall  make  up  an  impudent  face,  and  ask  Horace  Smith 
to  add  to  the  many  obligations  he  has  conferred  on  me.  I 
know  I  need  only  ask."  *#*#*»» 

Now  before  proceeding  further,  it  seems  from  this  epistle, 
and  there  is  no  reason  to  question  Shelley's  veracity,  that  Lord 
Byron  was  the  projector  of  the  Liberal:  that  Hunt's  political 
notoriety  was  mistaken  for  literary  reputation ;  and  that  there 
was  a  sad  lack  of  common  sense  in  the  whole  scheme. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Mr.  Hunt  arrives  in  ItJilv-Meeling  with  Lord  Byron.-Tumults  in  the 
house.-Arrangements  for  Mr.  Hunfa  family .-Extent  of  h.s  ob hga- 
tions  to  Lord  Byron.- -Their  copartnery  .-Meanness  of  tlie  wiiole 
business. 

On  receiving  Mr.  Shelley's  letter,  Mr.  Hunt  prepared  to  avail 
himself  of  the  invitation ;  which  he  was  the  more  easdy  enabled 
to  do,  as  his  friend  notwithstanding  what  he  had  intimated, 
borrowed  two  hundred  pounds  from  Lord  Byron,  and  remitted 
to  him.  He  reached  Leghorn  soon  after  his  Lordship  had  taken 
up  his  temporary  residence  at  Monte  Nero. 

The  meeting  with  his  Lordship  was  in  so  many  respects  re- 
markable,  that  the  details  of  it  cannot  well  be  omitted.  Ihe 
day  was  very  hot;  and  when  Hunt  reached  the  house  he  found 
the  hottest-lookir.g  habitation  he  had  ever  seen.  Not  content 
with  having  a  red  wash  over  it,  the  red  was  the  most  unseason- 
able of  all  reds— a  salmon-colour ;  but  Uie  greaiepi  oi  au  iroau- 
was  within.  , .    , 

Lord  Byron  was  grown  so  fat  that  he  scarcely  knew  mm. 
and  was  dressed  in  a  loose  nankeen  jacket  and  white  troust^rs, 
his  neckcloth  open,  and  his  hair  in  th:n  ringlets  about  m 
throat ;  altogether  presenting  a  very  different  aspect  from  t&e 


jord  Byron,  have 
;ation  in  modern 
[itemporaries  for- 
id  I  desire  to  be 

sending  a  remit- 
1,  however  excel- 
obligation  in  the 
)us  for  my  friend 
ut  I  suppose  that 
sk  Horace  Smith 
erred  on  me.    I 

It  *  *  *  » 
Tom  this  epistle, 
jracity,  that  Lord 
t  Hunt's  political 
1 ;  and  that  there 
I  scheme. 


on.— Tumults  in  the 
Ixtent  of  his  obliga- 
iness  of  tlie  whole 


t  prepared  to  avail 
lore  easily  enabled 
he  had  intimated, 
rron,  and  remitted 
lOrdship  had  taken 

many  respects  re- 

be  omitted.    The 

;he  house  he  found 

3en.    Not  content 

he  most  unseason- 

/*   II  1 — i, 

teaiepi  oi  an  iic;;~ 

larcely  knevir  him; 
nd  white  trousers, 
ringlets  about  his 
nt  aspect  from  the 


LORD  BYRON. 


177 


compact,  energetic,  and  curly-headed  person  whom  Hunt  had 
known  in  England. 

His  Lordship  took  the  stranger  into  an  inner  room,  and  in- 
troduced him  to  a  young  lady  who  was  in  a  strata  of  great  agi- 
ution.  This  was  the  Guiccioli ;  presently  her  brother  also,  in 
great  agitation,  entered,  having  his  arm  in  a  sling.  This  scene 
and  confusion  had  arisen  from  a  quarrel  among  the  servants,  in 
which  the  young  count  having  interfered,  had  been  stabbed. 
He  was  very  angry,  the  countess  was  moro  so,  and  would  not 
listen  to  the  comments  of  Lord  Byron,  who  was  for  makintr 
light  of  the  matter.  Indeed,  it  looked  somewhat  serious ;  for 
though  the  stab  was  not  rruch,  the  inflictor  threatened  more, 
and  was  at  that  time  revengefully  keeping  watch,  with  knotted 
brows,  under  the  portico,  with  the  avowed  intention  of  assaulu 
ing  the  first  person  who  issued  forth.  He  was  a  sinister-look- 
ing, meagre  caitiff,  with  a  red  cap— gaunt,  ugly,  and  unshaven; 
his  appearance  altogether  more  squalid  and  miserable  than 
Englishmen  would  conceive  it  possible  to  find  in  such  an  esta 
blishment  An  end,  liowever,  was  put  to  the  tragedy  by  the 
fellow  throwing  himself  on  a  bench,  and  bursting  into  tears—, 
wailing  and  asking  pardon  for  his  offence,  and  perfecting  hin 
penitence  by  requesting  Lord  Byron  to  kiss  him,  in  token  of 
forgiveness.  In  the  end,  however,  he  was  dismissed ;  and  it 
being  arranged  that  Mr.  Hunt  should  move  his  family  to  apart. 
ments  in  the  Lanfranchi  Palace  at  Pisa,  that  gentleman  re- 
turned to  Leghorn. 

The  account  which  Mr.  Hunt  has  given,  in  his  memoir  of 
Lord  Byron,  is  evidently  written  under  offended  feeling  ;  and 
in  consequence,  though  he  does  not  appear  to  have  been  much 
indebted  to  the  munificence  of  his  Lordship,  the  tendency  is  to 
make  his  readers  sensible  that  he  was,  if  not  ill  used,  disap. 
pointed.  The  Casa  Lanfranchi  was  a  huge  and  gaunt  build- 
ing, capable,  without  inconvenience  or  intermixture,  of  accom- 
modatirig  several  families.  It  was,  therefore,  not  a  great 
favour  in  his  Lordship,  considering  that  he  had  invited  Mr. 
Hunt  from  England  to  become  a  partner  with  him  in  a  specu- 
lation purely  commercial,  to  permit  him  to  occupy  the  ground. 
floor,  or  flat,  as  it  would  be  called  in  Scotland.  The  apart- 
ments being  empty,  furniture  was  necessary,  and  the  plainest 
was  provided ;  good  of  its  kind  and  respectable,  it  yet  could  not 

; *'--  ^  fci*^^^  ucai.     It  Vv'us  cnoscn  dv  r»Ti*  Siiciiey,  who 

mtended  to  make  a  present  of  it  to  Mr.  Hunt ;  but  when  the 
apartments  were  fitted  up,  Lord  Byron  insisted  upon  paying 
the  account,  and  to  that  extent  Mr.  Hunt  incurred  a  pecuniary 
obligation  to  his  Lordship.    The  two  hundred  pounds  already 


178 


THE  LIFE  OP 


i<     !  ' 


'•       '     H« 


mentioned  was  a  debt  to  Mr.  Shelley,  who  borrowed  the  money 

from  Lord  Byron.  ,   ,   •      xi    •  I 

Soon  after  Mr.  Hunt's  family  were  settled  m  their  new 
lodirinE.,  Shelley  returned  to  Leghorn,  with  the  mtention  of  i 
takCa  sea  excursion-in  the  course  of  which  he  was  lost: 
Lord  Byron,  knowing  how  much  Hunt  was  dependent  on  that 
gentleman,  mmediatcly  offered  him  the  command  of  his  purso 
fnd  re^uc  ted  to  be  considered  as  standing  m  the  place  of 
Shellev    his  particular  friend.    This  was  both  gentlemanly 
anf%ne  ous%nd  the  offer  was  accepted,  but  with  feeling, 
neither  iust  n^r  gracious :  »  Stern  necessity  and  a  large  family 
compeled  me,"  says  Mr.  Hunt;  "and  during  our  residence 
at  Pisa  I  had  from  him,  or  rather  from  his  steward,  to  whom 
he  always  sent  r  for  the  money,  and  who  doled  it  out  to  me  as 
if  my  disgraces  werebeingcounted,thesumot  seventy  pound. 
"This  sum,"  he  adds,  "together  with  the  payment  of  ou 
expenses  Sk  we  accompanied  him  from  Pisa  to  Genoa  and 
S  pounds  with  which  he  enabled  us  subsequently  to  go 
frorn^Genoa  lo  Florence,  was  all  the  money  I  ever  recemd 
froS  Lord  Byron,  exclusive  of  the  two  hundred  pounds,  which, 
in  Se  first  Instance,  he  made  a  debt  of  Mr.  Shelley,  by  taking 
his  bond!"-The  whole  extent  of  the  pecuniary  obligation 
appears  not  certainly  to  have  exceeded  five  hundred  pound, 
no  areat  sum-but  little  or  great,  the  manner  in  which  it  ^ 
reelected  reflects  no  credit'eithcr  on  the  head  or  heart  of  tb 

^^M^Hunt,  in  extenuation  of  the  bitterness  with  which  he 
haTspoken  kn  the  subject,  -ys,  that  »  Lord  Byron  ma  en, 
scruple  of  talking  very  freely  of  me  and  mine."     It  may,  therj 
fore  be  possible  that  Mr.  Hunt  had  cause  tor  his  resentmen  I 
and'  to  feel  the  humiliation  of  being  under  obligations  to  I 

mean  man;  at  the  same  time  Lord  By^«"' ^'^  ^i^  "ti.3 
unon  experience,  have  found  equal  reason  to  repent  of  his  c  ji 
nexLn  -^th  Mr.  Hunt.  And  it  is  certain  that  eacli  has  sough 
to  justify,  both  to  himself  and  to  the  wc;ad,  the  rupture  o^^aH 
partnery  which  ought  never  to  have  been  formed.  But  hj 
Lordship's  conduct  is  the  least  justifiable.  He  had  M 
Hunt  to  Italy  with  flattering  hopes ;  he  had  a  perfect  knowled^ 
Ks  hampered  circumstances,  and  he  was  thoroughly  avvaj 
?hat  unm  fheir  speculation  became  productive,  he  mustsupK 
that,  urviu -n^ir^P^^  „f  „K„,jt  fivfi  hundred  pounds  he  did  soj 

a'Sfle,Vonsider\ng  the  glittering  anticipations  of  their  sciienji 
Viewing  their  Copartnery,  however,  as  a  mere  commerce 
JcuS  his  Loilhip's  advance  could  -oiUre^r^^J 
iSeral;  and  no  modification  of  the  term  munificence  orpalrt 


LORD   BYRON. 


179 


rrowed  the  money  I 


I  age  could  be  applied  to  it.  But  unless  he  had  harassed  Hunt 
for  the  repayment  of  the  money,  which  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  the  cate,  nor  could  he  morally,  perhaps  even  legally,  have 
done  so,  that  gentleman  had  no  cause  to  complain.  The  joint 
adventure  was  a  failure,  and  except  a  little  repining  on  the  part 
of  the  one  for  the  loss  of  his  advance,  and  of  grudging  on  that 
of  the  other  for  the  waste  of  his  time,  no  sharper  feeling  ought 
to  have  arisen  between  them.  But  vanity  was  mingled  with 
their  golden  dreams.  Lord  Byron  mistook  Hunt's  political 
notoriety  for  literary  reputation,  and  Mr.  Hunt  thought  it  was 
a  fine  thing  to  be  chum  and  partner  with  so  renowned  a  Lord. 
After  all,  however,  the  worst  which  can  be  said  of  it  is,  that, 
formed  in  weakness,  it  could  produce  only  vexation. 

But  the  dissolution  of  the  vapour  with  which  both  parties 
were  so  intoxicated,  and  which  led  to  their  quarrel,  might  have 
occasioned  only  amusement  to  the  world,  had  it  not  left  an 
ignoble  stigma  on  the  character  of  Lord  Byron,  and  given 
cause  to  every  admirer  of  his  genius  to  deplore,  that  he  should 
have  so  forgotten  his  dignity  and  fame. 

There  is  no  disputing  the  fact,  that  his  Lordship,  in  conceiv- 
ing the  plan  of  The  Liberal,  was  actuated  by  sordid  motives, 
andof  the  basest  kind,  inasmuch  as  it  was  intended,  that  the 
nopularity  of  the  work  should  rest  upon  satire  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  on  the  ability  to  be  displayed  by  it  in  the  art  of  detrac- 
lion.    Being  disappointed  in  his  hopes  of  profit,  he  shuffled  out 
of  the  concern  as  meanly  as  any  higgler  could  have  done  who 
had  found  himself  in  a  profitless  business  with  a  disreputable 
partner.    There  is  no  disguising  this  unvarnished  truth ;  and 
tliough  his  friends  did  well  in  getting  the  connexion  ended  as 
quickly  as  possible,  they  could  not  eradicate  the  original  sin  of 
the  transaction,  nor  extinguish  the  consequences  which  it  of 
necessity  entailed.     Let  me  not,  however,  be  misunderstood: 
jmy  objection  to  the  conduct  of  Byron  does  not  lie  against  the 
wish  to  turn  his  extraordinary  talents  to  profitable  account,  but 
to  the  mode  in  which  he  proposed  to,  and  did,  employ  them. 
I  Whether  Mr.  Hunt  was  or  was  not  a  fit  copartner  for  one  of  his 
lliordship's  rank  and  celebrity,  I  do  not  undertake  to  judge ;  but 
[any  individual  was  good  enough  for  that  vile  prostitution  of 
liiis  genius,  to  which,  in  an  unguarded  hour,  he  submitted  for 
Imoney.    Indeed,  it  would  be  doing  injustice  to  compare  the 
Imotives  of  Mr.  Hunt  in  the  business,  with  those  by  which  Lord 
i^)'i.\niL  vveii9  iniamatea.     no  put   n'omm^  ■"  ■ 


Iwhat  might,  he  could  not  bo  otherwise  than  a  gainer ;  for  if 
[profit  failed,  it  could  not  bo  denied  that  the  "  foremost"  poet  of 
[all  the  age  had  discerned  in  him  cither  the  promise  or  the  ex. 
listence  of  merit,  which  he  was  desirous  of  associating  with  his 


Ijfet 


M* 


180 


THE  LIPE   OP 


own.  This  advantage  Mr.  Hunt  did  gain  by  the  connexion; 
and  it  is  his  own  fault  that  he  cannot  be  recollected  as  the  as-' 
sociate  of  Byron,  but  only  as  having  attempted  to  deface  his 
monument. 


w. 


CHAPTER  XXXEX. 

Mr.  Shelley.— Sketch  of  his  life.-His  death— Tlie  burning  of  his  body 
and  the  return  of  the  mourners. 

It  has  been  my  study  in  writing  these  sketches,  to  introduce 
M  few  names  as  the  nature  of  the  work  would  admit  of;  but 
Lord  Bj^ron  connected  himself  with  persons  who  had  claims  to 
public  consideration,  on  account  of  their  talents ;  and,  with- 
out  affectation,  it  is  not  easy  to  avoid  taking  notice  of  his  in. 
timacy  with  some  of  them ;  especially  if  in  the  course  of  it  any 
circumstance  came  to  pass  which  was  in  itself  remarkable,  or 
likely  to  have  produced  an  impression  on  his  Lordship's  mind. 
His  friendship  with  Mr.  Sheiley,  mentioned  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  was  an  instance  of  this  kind. 

That  unfortunate  gentleman  was  undoubtedly  a  min  of  ge- 

nius — full  of  ideal  beauty  and  enthusiasm.    And  yet  there 

was  some  defect  in  his  understanding  by  which  he  subjected 

himself  to  the  accusation  of  atheism.     In  his  dispositions  he 

is  represented  to  have  been  ever  calm  and  amiable  ;  and  but 

fer  his  metaphysical  errors  and  reveries,  and  a  singular  inca. 

pability  of  conceiving  the  existing  state  of  things  as  it  pracli- 

cally  affects  the  nature  and  condition  of  man,  to  have  possess- 

ed  naany  of  the  gentlest  qualities  of  humanity.     He  highlj 

admired  the  endowments  of  Tiord  Byron,  and  in  return  was 

esteemed  by  his  Lordship ;  but  even  had  there  been  neither 

sympathy  nor  friendship  between  them,  his  premature  fate 

could  not  but  have  saddened  Byron  with  no  common  sorrow. 

Mr.  Shelley  was  some  years  younger  than  his  noble  friend ; 

he  was  tiie  eldest  son  of  Sir  Timothy  Shelley,  Bart,  of  Castle 

Goring,  Sussex.    At  the  age  of  thirteen  he  was  sent  to  Eton, 

where  he  rarely  mixed  in  the  common  amusements  of  the 

other  boys ;  but  was  of  a  shy,  reserved  disposition,  fond  of 

solitude^  and  made  few  friends.    He  was  not  distinguished  for  I 

nis  proficiency  in  the  regular  studies  of  the  school;  on  the 

contrary,  he  neglected  them  for  German  and  Chemistry.    His 

abihties  were  superior,  but  deteriorated  by  eccentricity.    At 

the  age  of  sixteen  he  was  sent  to  the  University  of  Oxford, 

where  he  soon  distinguished  himself  by  publishing  a  pamphlet, 


LORD  BYROX. 


181 


by  the  connexion; 
icollected  as  the  as. 
upted  to  deface  his 


!  burning  of  hia  body, 
s. 

rtches,  to  introdnce 
Duld  admit  of;  but 
who  had  claims  to 
alents;  and,  with- 
g  notice  of  his  in- 
he  course  of  it  any 
lelf  remarkable,  or 
5  Lordship's  mind. 
[  in  the  preceding 

;edly  a  man  of  ge- 
;.    And  jet  there 
hich  he  subjected 
(lis  dispositions  he 
amiable ;  and  but 
id  a  singular  inca- 
;hings  as  it  practi. 
ti,  to  have  possess, 
.nity.    He  highly 
ind  in  return  was 
lere  been  neither 
is  premature  fate 
common  sorrow. 
I  his  noble  friend ;  j 
y,  Bart,  of  Castle  I 
was  sent  to  Eton, 
nusements  of  the  | 
sposition,  fond  of 
.  distinguished  for 
16  school;  on  the 
1  Chemistry.    His 
eccentricity.    At 
irersity  of  Oxford, 
shing  a  pamphlet, 


under  the  absurd  and  world.defyinff  title  of  Th«  v  •*  , 
Atheism ;  for  which  he  was  expe^ll^f  tKivI^Uy '"'""^  °^ 
Jttnrh:^Sdt!nl'';  Prospectsr^;;  and  the 
him  from  error.  h7s  father  hnir'^^-"^^'  !°°  ^^''^  *«  ^in 
ed,  and  he  was  rece  ved  W  Tm ''  I"  ?  '^""l^  *'™«'  ^^l^nt. 
conciliate  the  esteerof  hTfrie^i^^^^^^^^^  Irt''  ''^ 

uncomfortable,  and  left  it  Ha  fj,.'  .  ^?""*^  *^®  ho"se 
he  eloped  with  a  young  Ldv  to  Cr^f'^'''*  ''  ^°^'^°"'  ^^^«^« 

rathe,  that  he  t^::kn'.ZS^Z ^^ST"^'  ""^ 

in  EtVu'lThe7then;  ^°T  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^^ome  time 
in  a  state  ff  disturbance  Kl^  TV"  ^'^^^"^'  ^^^^^h,  being 
reasonable  thmmi^T^^fu^^"^^  ^  ^""'^  ^"  P°"tJ««.  ^ot% 
moderation.  ^      ^^''  ^''"  ^^P«^'«d.    He  inculcated 

poelkaftSt^l'^b^tl^^^  ^'"°*^^  *°  *'^^  ^^'^Itivation  of  his 

bductilns  :rai  understZdb^whVh""  ^^  ^"^'^^^^ 

garded  all  the  existbrwoHd  Tf  .^  '^' '"  ^'  '"^^^  "^  ^^  ^e- 
^  having  been\T£^r,ii^^^  ^  --«^-<i 

the  WrS'tfT;? fhiirer^^  ^'^rh^PPy  --  After 

t^ic  place,  and  m|11[^-^^^^^  consent, 

Cakb  Wmia'mT  and'  t"^''"f  .^Z*  ^°^^^^"'  "^  -thor  of 
Marlow  in  Tot^  .  ^^«y  resided  for  some  time  at  Great 
Harlow  m  Buckmghamshire,  much  respected  for  thei.  IZ 

Sic  'n^t  "a'n"  T^  '"  """^^°"«  '^P^"--  hid  aU;acW 
Ls  ofX  Deitv  ln?ol  T/'^^^'^'^u  °^  ^''  unsatisfactory  no- 
i  wereTakl^r:  f"  l'-"^'?'  P'^^^^^^^  ^^  the  instance  of  his 
lorTl;  event  whi-h  'T  ^^  ^  ^'-'''^  ^^  '^'  ^ord  C}:ancel. 
H.  ntsjnduced  h^'fo'^  ^-/T'",'^"^  P^^"^'")^  emUrrass- 

triSktfois  Sed ''a?  r'''^''^  ^'^  ^y^°"'  ^««^  W«  d°™««tic 
then  oTCeVthe  All     ^'"'"'^  ^^^  ^'"^^^^  acquainted.    He 

resided^n^^  tj^^^'^'P '■  ^  ^¥!^.P^«««d  to  Rome,  where  he 
nent  resScet%^"^  after  visiting  Naples,  fixed  his  perma- 
...!;L.®T^  *^^  '"}  T^scmy.  His  acquirements  wom  rnn«ta„fi„ 

per^r^S  wl",  'T  '^'''  ^^^»^°"t  queslion,  an  accomplished 
^n\oa^hr;e«T''f'  Tr  "^."  '"^taphysician  than  a 
'  in^h^B  works  A«  «  '^f^'^  «P^cimens  of  poetical  thought 
wof fts.    As  a  man,  he  was  objected  to  only  on  accofint 


182 


THE  LIFE  OF 


I- 


Of  his  speculative  "P^^ '  J^^^  ^  1:^0^^^:^^ 

qualities,  was  just  in  Ins  >^l*^"^'°"^;  "^^^  j^  the  Casa  L.' 

^  When  he  had  seen  Mr.  Hunt  tstabinea  ^ 

franchi  with  Lord  ^yron  at  Pis^M^^^ 
Leghorn,  for  the  purpose  ^^tua^ed    During  a  violent  stor, 
xnent  to  whieh  he  was  ^J^'f^^^^^^f  Ji^^"  o»   ^oard  were  . 
the  boat  -s   -'arnp  d      nd    he^J-J^  ,ft,,,,rds  cast , 
drowned.     I H""   KX'^"'   '       '.  yia  Rezs  o,  and,  tail 

.horel  Mr.  Shelley's  "'»  f™"?  ^^'elOTcd,  ft  »■«,  determJ 
greatly  f -""C^'i™  al^  thTJW  mi.ot  be  car,! 
:„^%CTf  *VCrA':cordi„gly  pr,paratio.»  were  .^ 

f",Jtd^nb^nda.cew.,  found  »^*^ 

on  the  right,  and  Leghorn  "V,^; '»^'j'i^^/,'>":^ie,,  boWljl 
about  two.and.twentym,le8.    The  headtand.  P^^^^  ,  , 

into  the  sea;  in  f'»°'  >'=  ^?™'  No'Se  waa  omitted  iJ 
could  exalt  and  aignu>      p^„, .  •  ,,„„^e  and  wine  were  notfil 

■    *"""ll,' d^t-TheT  Zl  thfy  IS  and  their  bar  J 
:    Taf  dtS  I  wLlwid  aWh  ^^e  tor^t         can  -, 

rpive  n  .hinff  descriptive  of  the  demoniac  '^^^^'U  . 
'  flUht  but  scrips  of  the  dead  man's  own  «ong  of  Faust, 
.    pllstophls!  and  Ignis  Fatuus,  in  alternate  chorus. 

Lead'us  on  thott  wand'ring  Gleam 

Lead  us  onward,  far  ana  fiiBt, 
To  the  wide,  the  desert  waste. 

But  see  how  swift,  advancP  and  shia 
Trees  behind  trees— row  by  row,. 


183 


)d  many  amiabl 
erous  to  excess. 
in  the  CasaLi 
lelley  returned 
ursion ;  an  amus 
ng  a  violent  stod 
n   board  were 
flerwards  cast 
[leggio,  and,  beid 
d,  it  was  detcrmiJ 
y  mii:!it  be  carriel 
.rations  were  ma 

shore,  consistir>gi 
pot  itself  was  ^vf 
t  bay  of  Spezia  vfj 

equal  distances  d 
ds  project  boldly  fj 
I,  and  behind,  dd 
,g  was  omitted  m 
s  with  the  aasocJ 
d  wine  were  notfd 
lutiful,  and  the  paii 

with  extraordinaJ 
.t  he  should  himsel 

t. 

>todly  affocting-; 
ning,  is.the  mosti 
Tie,  of  which  I  M 
id  the  ashes  collect^ 
nd  bursting  froml 
)ressed  their  feel" 
lie  exultation.    Tt 
1,  and  their  baroncl 
e  forest.     I  can  f 
iniac  revelry  of 
n  song  of  Faust, 
ate  chorus. 

Mat; 


a 


LORD  BYRON. 

Wow  clift  by  clift.  rocks  bend  and  lift, 
Their  frowning  foreheads  as  we  go ; 

The  giant-snouted  crags,  »<>' n°'. .  „ 
Hovv  they  snort,  and  how  they  blow. 

Honour  her  to  whom  honour  is  due, 

oui  mother  Baubo,  honour  to  you. 
An  S  sow  with  old  Baubo  upon  her 
fa  w  orS. jTf  glory  and  worthy  of  honour. 

KSuTiS-^VBiill^tKWi 

fevron-bSSstr^^^^^^^^ 

»a^rg«"  ^^.rdrstep  thrc^jh  the  .Ky. 
Who  flies  not  to  night,  when  means  h.  to  fly  1 


CHAPTER  XL. 

•     wrnrn^r  -The  Deformed  Transformed.-Don  Juan.- 

I  „.v.  never  heard  exactly  -l^fj^.^'^^,  f jfje:l  p^^^^^^^ 
Foscari  was  written;  that.twas  '"^^f  ";/^^"d;;Xfor  ^  has  no 
The  subject  is,  perhaps,  not  very  fit  Wdram^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^_ 
action;  but  it  is  »ch;n  tragic  ma^^^^^^^^^^ 
tion   and  the  co-P-|,t-"^;^^i,  ^"  Iness'with  which  Jacopo 
poat's  own  mind.     ^^'^/^^'""L  the  window  on  the  Adri- 

'  How  many  a  time  have  I 

coven  with  arm  ^^i"  l-tier  hearj.  mo^e  d  yng.  ^ 

the    del  ciou«   recollections  ot    living     .       .^fuHy  given  and 

waves.     Rut  the  oxik;.  ^,«l'"g  jf  "°  ^^^  S^^,!^  so,  in^^^^^^  than 
appropriate  to  the  author's  condition,  tar  more     , 

itethatof-TacopoFoscari. 

'  Hb(1  I  ffone  fortn  . . 

Or  like  our  fi»th:^r«  driven  by  At u. a 

From  fertile  ii«..v  '*^  "^'f  "Ip'rrto  my  late  country, 

M"«lf  t"  tho-p  about  me,  to  create 


%*i. 


'%' 


w    ^. 


Si'  ,    ^H'*5 


184 


THE  Ll'FE  OF 


What  follows  in  still  more  pathetic  : 

Ay— we  but  hear 
Of  the  survivors'  toil  in  their  new  lenda, 
Their  numbers  and  success  ;  but  who  can  nuntber 
The  hearts  which  broke  in  silence  of  that  parting. 
Or  after  their  departure  ;  of  that  malady* 
Which  calls  up  green  and  native  fields  to  view 
Prom  the  rough  deep  with  such  identity 
To  the  poor  exile's  fever'd  eye,  that  he 
Can  scarcely  be  restrained  from  treading  themT 
That  melodyf  which  out  of  tones  and  tunes 
Collects  such  pastime  for  the  ling'ring  sorrow 
Of  the  sad  mountaineer,  when  far  away 
Prom  his  snow  canopy  of  cliffs  and  clouds, 
That  he  feeds  on  the  sweet  hut  poisonous  thought 
And  dies.— Vou  call  this  weakness!  It  is  strength, 
I  say— the  parent  of  all  honest  feclirig  : 
He  who  loves  not  bis  country  can  love  nothing. 

MARINA. 

Obey  her  then ;  His  she  that  puts  thee  forth. 

JACOPO  POSCAR.. 

Ay,  there  it  is.    'Tis  like  a  mother's  curse 
■(-irn  my  soul— the  mark  is  set  upon  me. 
,f 'ifi  exiles  you  speak  of  went  forth  by  nations ; 
Their  hands  upheld  each  other  by  the  way; 
'iiieir  tents  were  pitched  together— I'm  alone— 

Ah,  you  never  yet 
Were  far  away  from  Venice— never  saw 
Ilfr  beautiful  towers  in  the  receding  distance, 
While  every  furrow  of  the  vessel's  track 
Seem'd  ploughing  dsep  into  your  heart ;  you  never 
Saw  day  go  down  upon  your  native  spires 
So  calmly  with  its  gold  and  crimson  glory, 
And,  after  dreaming  a  disturbed  vision 
Of  them  and  theirs,  awoke  and  found  them  not. 


nantle  tl: 

All  this  speaks  of  the  voluntary  exile's  own  regrets,  and    'exhibit 
awakens  sympathy  for  the  anguish  which  pride  concealed,  but 
unable  to  repress,  gave  vent  to  in  the  imagined  sufferings  of   lieses  to 
one  that  was  to  him  as  Hecuba.  "" 

It  was  at  Pisa  that  Werner,  or  The  Inheritance,  a  tragedy, 
was  written,  or  at  least  completed.  It  is  taken  entirely  from 
the  German's  tale,  Kruitzner,  published  many  years  before,  by 
one  of  the  Miss  Lees,  in  their  Canterbury  Tales.  So  far  back 
as  1815,  Byron  began  a  drama  upon  the  same  subject,  and 
nearly  completed  an  act,  vrhftn  he  was  interrupted,  "-I  have  Jventiirei 
adopted,"  he  says  himself,  "  the  characters,  plan,  and  even  the  ms,  settle 
language  of  many  parts  of  this  story ;"  an  acknowledgment  i  divorce 
which  exempts  it  from  that  kind  of  criticism  to  which  his  prin. 
cipal  works  are  herein  subjected. 


The  calenture. 


t  The  Swiss  air. 


But 
Pisa,  i 

substai 

it  prob 

to  the  < 

the  aci 

tribute) 

of  those 

course 

fair  pro 

sketch 

It  was  i 

a  fragm 

Hithf 

dentall}' 

tinned  a 

author  J 

has  bee: 

moral  ti 

masterpi 

powers, 

equal   di 

pathetic 

have  all 

and  are, 

ffltire  is, 

witty.     ' 

md  free( 

iften  ovc 

le  more 

aid  to  in 


in  number 
at  parting, 

f* 
0  view 


g  them  1 

lines 

sorrow 

f 

ids, 

LIB  thought 

8  strength, 

nothing. 


>rth. 


rsa 
e. 

nation! ; 
vay; 
alone— 

w 

stance, 

:k 

;  you  never 

ires 

Dry, 

I 

hem  not. 


LORD  BYRON. 


185 


Pi«    i     I  ^«f'""^«<i  Transformed,  which  was  also  written  at 
nsa,  19    though  confessedly  an  imitation  of  Goethe's  Faust 
substantially  an  original  work.     In  the  opinion  of  Mr  M^e 
iVht^l^  ovves  something  to  the  author's  painful  sensibility' 
0  the  detect  in  his  own  foot;  an  accident  which  must,  froni 

tHhnllff "'''  ^^'t  ^'"'^  ^'  ^'^'  ^*'  h^^«  essentiali;  con^ 
tribu  ed  to  enable  h.tn  to  comprehend  and  to  express  the  envy 
ofthoseaHictedwith  irremediable  exceptions  to  the  ordinarV 
course  ot  fortune,  or  who  have  been  amerced  by  natu'  >.  of  the 

hit  Ti  !^l^  ^'"""^  ^^'^  felicitous  works  of  the  ^et. 

f  f^ir-^-^'f^Uu^r  -^— P-^^b^>''  ^t  lea.t-but  it  is  rnly 

JJ^uT%]  ^^""^  "°*  "''^'^'f  .^°"  -^"^^  otherwise  than  incl.  ^ 
iin?,pH  ;;  •  I  '"''f  commenced  in  Venice,  and  afterwards  con- 
Ifhor  t A  p''^''  'u  *^'  '"^  «^^  '^'^  '^^^^^^"th  canto,  until  the 
author  left  P.sa  when  it  was  not  resumed,  at  least  no  more 

lornlT  ?""''*''^  ^'''"S  «''J^«*'°"«  hav'e  been  made  o  its 
moral  tendency  but  in  the  opinion  of  many,  it  is  the  poet's 
masterpiece   and  undoubtedly  it  displays  all  the  variety  of  his 

^17V  "^^"^  '^''^^'  ^  '^''^^"*  playfulness  not  found  to  an 
equal   degrye  m  any  other  of  his  works.      The  serious  and 

fvp'infri'T  Y^  ^•^'J.^^V^^t^ly  beautiful;  the  descriptive 
have  all  the  distinctness  ot  the  best  pictures  in  Childe  Harold.  < 

Sjf'r'"^'''''''  ^''"'^^^"y  drawn  from  nature,  while  the 
Si  "'^"J  the  most  part,  curiously  associated  and  sparklingly 
ni  ft.  J  characters  are  sketched  with  amazing  firmniss 
ind  freedom,  and  though  sometimes  grotesque,  are  yet  not 
iften  overcharged  It  is  professedly  an  epic  poem,  but  it  may 
«  more  properly  described  as  a  poetical  novel.  Nor  can  it  be 
aid  to  inculcate  any  particular  moral,  or  to  do  more  than  un- 
♦        J    «e  the  decorum  of  society.     Bold  and  buoyant  throughout, 

'8  own  regrets,  m     t  exhibits  a  free  irreverent  knowledge  of  the  world,  laulhin^ 

pride  concealed,  but   J  mocking  as  the  thought  serves,  in  the  most  unexpected  anti! 

igined  sufferings  of    l»e^es  to  the  proprieties  of  time  place,  and  circumstance. 

the  object  of  the  poem  is  to  describe  the  progress  of  a  liber. 

fle  through  life,  not  an  unprincipled  prodigal,  whose  profliffacv, 

rowing  with  his  growth  and  strengthening  with  his  strenfffh 

a«ses  from  voluptuous  indulgence  into  the  sordid  sensual! tv 

.     _„    __      t  systematic  debauchery,  but  a  young  gentleman  who,  whirled 

1  same  subject,  and   p»e  vigour  and  vivacity  of  his  animal  spirits  into  a  world  of 

3,  plan,  and  even  th    i«s,  settles  at  last  into  an  honourable  lawgiver,  a  moral  sneaker 
an  acknowledgment   i  divorce  bills,  and  possibly  a  subscriber  to  the  Society  for 
,m  to  wh.Ph  },,«  nrin.  le  Suppi^ossion  of  Vice.  The  author  has  not  completed  his  de. 
?n,  hut  such  appears  to  have  b«en  the  drift  of  it ;  aflPbrdinjr 
ft  9  * 


beritance,  a  tra^ 
taken  entirely  from 
lany  years  before,  by 
Tales.    So  far  back 


sm  to  which  his  prin 


Swiss  air. 


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Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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186 


THE  LIFE  OF 


^'^A 


'Ji4| 


ample  opportunities  to  unveil  the  foibles  and  follies  of  all  sorts 
of  men — and  women  too.  It  is  generally  supposed  to  contain 
much  of  the  author's  own  experience ;  but  still,  with  all  its 
riant  knowledge  of  bowers  and  boudoirs,  it  is  deficient  as  a 
true  limning  of  the  world,  by  showing  man  as  if  he  were 
always  ruled  by  one  predominant  appetite. 

In  the  character  of  Donna  Inez  and  Don  Jos^,  it  has  been 
imagined  that  Lord  Byron  has  sketched  himself  and  his  lady. 
It  may  be  so ;  and  if  it  were,  he  had  by  that  time  got  pretty 
well  over  the  lachryraation  of  their  parting.  It  is  no  longer 
doubtful  that  the  twenty-seventh  stanza  records  a  biographical 
fact,  and  the  thirty-sixth  his  own  feelings  ;  when, 

Poor  fellow  !  he  had  many  things  to  wound  him, 

Let's  own,  since  it  can  do  no  good  on  earth ; 

It  was  a  trying  moment  that,  which  found  him 

Standing  alone  beside  his  desolate  hearth. 

Where  all  his  household  gods  lay  shiver'd  round  Mm: 

No  choice  was  left  his  feelings  or  his  pride. 

Save  death  or  Doctors'  Commons. 

It  has  been  already  mentioned,  that  while  the  poet  was  at 
Dr.  Glennie's  academy  at  Dulwich,  he  raad  un  account  of  a 
snipwreck,  which  has  been  supposed  to  have  furnished  some 
of  the  most  striking  incidents  in  the  description  of  the  disas- 
trous  voyage  in  the  second  canto  in  Don  Juan.  I  have  not 
seen  that  work ;  but  whatever  Lord  Byron  may  have  found  in 
it  suitable  to  his  purpose,  he  has  undoubtedly  made  good  use 
of  his  grandfather's  adventures.  The  incident  of  the  spaniel  is  J 
related  by  the  admiral. 

In  the  license  of  Don  Juan,  the  author  seems  to  have  consi- 
dered that  his  wonted  accuracy  might  be  dispensed  with. 

The  description  of  Haidee  applies  to  an  Albanian,  not  a| 
Greek  girl.    The  splendour  of  her  father's  house  is  altogether  i 
preposterous ;  and  the  island  has  no  resemblance  to  those  of  the  [ 
Cyclades.    With  the  exception  of  Zea,  his  Lordship,  however, 
did  not  visit  them.     Some  degree  of  error  and  unlike  descrip- 
tion, runs  indeed  through  the  whole  of  the  still  life  around  the 
portrait  of  Haidee.    The  ftte  which  Lambro  discovers  on  his 
return,  is,  however,  prettily  described;  and  the  dance  is  as 
perfect  as  true.  ' 

And  further  on  a  group  of  Grecian  girls, 

The  first  and  tallest  her  white  kerchief  waving, 

Were  strung  toffether  like  n  row  of  oearls, 

Linkd  hand  in  hand  tfnd  dancing ;  each  too  having 

Down  her  white  neck  long  floating  auburn  curls. 

Their  lender  sang,  and  bounded  to  her  song 

With  choral  step  and  voice,  the  virgin  throng. 

The  account  of  Lambro  proceeding  to  the  house,  is  poeticalljfj 


LORD  BTRON. 


187 


le  house,  is  poeticalljl 


imagined ;  and,  in  his  character,  may  be  traced  a  vivid  likeness 
ot  All  PMhaw   and  happy  illustrative  allusions  to  the  adven 
tures  of  that  chief. 

The  fourth  canto  was  written  at  Ravenna;  it  is  so  said 
within  Itself;  and  the  description  of  Dante's  sepulchre  there 
may  be  quoted  for  its  truth,  and  the  sweet  modulation  of  the 
moral  reflection  interwoven  with  it. 

I  pass  eich  day  where  Dante's  bones  are  laid : 
A  little  cupola,  more  neat  than  solemn  \ 

Protects  his  dust;  but  reverence  here  is  paid 
lo  the  hard's  tomb  and  not  the  warrior's  coiiimn 
i  he  time  must  come  when  both  alike  decay'd, 
rhechieftain's  trophy  and  the  poet's  volume 
B  i"  «'">«.  wf'erc  lie  the  songs  and  wars  of  earth 
Before  Pelides'  death  or  Homer's  birth. 

The  fifth  canto  was  also  written  in  Ravenna.    But  it  is  not 

my  intention  to  analyze  this  eccentric  and  meanderinff  poem : 

a  composition  which  cannot  be  well   estimated  by  extracts. 

Without,  therefore,  dwelling  at  greater  length  on  its  variety 

and  merits  I  would  only  observe,  that  the  general  accuracy  of 

the  poet  8  descriptions  is  verified  by  that  of  the  scenes  in  which 

Juan  IS  placed  m  England,  a  point  the  reader  may  determine 

tor  himself;  while  the  vagueness  of  the  parts  derived  from 

books,  or  sketched  from  fancy,  as  contrasted  with  them,  justify 

-he  opinion,  that  invention  was  not  the  most  eminent  faculty 

of  Byron,  either  in  scenes  or  in  characters.    Of  the  demerits 

ot  the  poem  it  is  only  necessary  to  remark,  that  it  has  been 

proscribed  on  account  of  its  immorality ;  perhaps,  however. 

here  was  more  of  prudery  than  of  equity  in  the  decision;  at 

least  It  13  liable  to  be  so  considered,  so  long  as  reprints  are 

CtSusneL  dramatists,  with  all  their  unpruned 

,  But  the  wheels  of  Byron's  destiny  were  now  hurrying.  Both 
m  the  conception  and  composition  of  Don  Juan,  he  evinced  an 
mcreasing  disregard  of  the  world's  opinion  ;  and  the  project  of 
Ihe  Liberal  was  still  more  fatal  to  his  reputation.  Not  only 
were  the  invidious  eyes  of  bigotry  now  eagerly  fixed  upon  his 
conduct,  but  those  of  admiration  were  saddened  and  turned 
away  from  him.  His  principles,  which  would  have  been  more 
correctly  designated  as  paradoxes,  were  objects  of  jealousy  to 
the  Tuscan  government;  and  it  has  been  already  seen  that 
there  was  a  disorderliness  about  the  Casa  Lanfranchi  which 
attracLeu  tue  attention  of  the  police.  His  situation  in  Pisa  be- 
came,  in  consequence,  irksome  ;  and  he  resolved  to  remove  to 
I'enoa,  an  intention  which  he  carried  into  eiFect  about  the  end 
of  September,  1822,  at  which  period  his  thoughts  began  to  gra- 
vitate  towards  Greece.    Having  attained  to  ihe  sunimit  of  hig 


m< 


\,^. 


188 


THE  LIFE  OP 


In  all  the  migrations  of  Lord  Byron  there  was  ever  some 
O^ing  grotesque  and  desultory.    In  moving  from  Ravenna  to 
I^isa.  his  caravan  consisted  of  seveu  servants,  five  carriages 
nine  horses   a  rnonkey.  a  bull-dog,  and  a  mastiff,  two  cSs 
three  peafowl,  a  harem  of  hens,  books,  saddles,  and  fire  arm  ,' 

fori.tT  ''^^  ^"n  I'"'''  "°''  7'"'  '^'  ^^°^"«  ^«««  fantastical 
for  m  addition  to  aU  his  own  clanjamphry,  he  had  Mr.  Hunt's 

miscellaneous  assemblage  of  chatties  and  chattery  and  htUe 


km^:' 


!  ) 


7  ,  ,    , 

" 

'■h 

m 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

nnAil'    u^^  ''N^l""^  ^^^'^'  «''y '■  '^  ^vas  the  Casa  Salu7zi 

seemeJTo'.S'''  '"^^'  '^'*  '^."""^  '^'  '''""'  ^'  '^'^^^^  there  h 
seemed  to  enjoy  a  more  uniform  and  temperate  gaiety  than  in 

any  former  period  of  his  life.    There  might  have  been  less  of 

sentiment  m  his  felicity  than  when  he  lived  at  Raven  he 

SfZ  ""'t  Pr^'^  'u"?"^  '•"  ^^'^'^''^  t«  ««'"^  onus  o  .nal 
irreeable'InH  "'T  ^'"1  ^"  ^*^"'^°"'  *«  ^'^^'^  become  more 
tlfe  vanitv  thtf^  /  ,7:^  ^^d  at  the  risk  of  sarcasm  for 

besides  £  kini  f  ^r^"^  '"•',  ''^'"°^*^'^  t^^P^r  t«^^^rds  me, 
besides  the  kind  frankness  with  which  lie  received  mv  friend 

tl't  he  Ld  tT'' '"  "1  "^  ""^^'  ''^^  -«  Earl  of  b"LSi 

hoLht  the  2  t'7."T-  ^^  ^^^^  ''^"^^'^  three  times,  and 

herofnXtunA     ^^^^^^   drippy  one  of  the  most  living-like 

had  dnn.  /  ^'^^'"  he  same  week,  that  Sir  Walter  Scot 
ment  frL  f  '"'"^  T'''^^  *''"  ^^""^  '''^^•'^^-  «^If  ^he  compli- 
S  of?        '"  '"      '"'"  ""'^"'^  h^^"  h^^"  something  to  be 

Mr^HMn7'"°"i''-'''''^^"^^  ^*  ^^^^'°  '''^^"  ^'^P^^t^  from  that  of 
than  wh.n  7  .'"f  «,"««q"encc,  they  were  more  rarely  together 
than  when  domiciled  under  the  same  roof  as  at  Pisa,  fndeed 
matter  iS«  "  ""^  !"7  ^"^^  ^^'■-  ^*""t's  own  account  of  the 
Sher  '  H«  V^/r  *^  '''''"  J'^'^'"^  P^^"y  well  tired  of  each 
other.     He  had  found  out  that  a  peer  is.  as  a  friend,  bnt  as  a 


trying  fortune  in  an- 

tliere  was  ever  some- 
ing  from  Ravenna  to 
vants,  five  carriages, 
a  mastiff,  two  cats, 
iddles,  and  fire  arms, 
)dus  less  fantastical ; 
,  he  had  Mr.  Hunt's 
1  chattery  and  little 


LORD  BYRON. 


189 


Residence  at  the  Casa 
vorks  in  general,  and 

use  had  been  taken 
a  pleasant  village 
the  Casa  Saluzzi, 
e  resided  there,  he 
ate  gaiety  than  in 
have  been  less  of 
at  Raven ,        :  he 
eofhiso         jnal 
ive  become   more 
sk  of  sarcasm  for 
:iper  towards  me, 
ceived  my  friend 
Earlof  Blesinton, 
three  times,  and 
most  living-like 
3  more  agreeable, 
Sir  Walter  Scott 
Half  the  compli- 
soraetliing  to  be 

ate  from  that  of 
e  rarely  together 
it  Pisa.  Indeed 
1  account  of  the 
ill  tired  of  each 
friend,  btit  as  a 


Kh";  TaV  niTarrdJstr  ^,^;f --<^ed  man.  'Hi. 
than  smartness  oi  ingenuUv  tZZ""^  '?'^  something  more 
%m  familiarity.  pfZm  ZtU^J  '^  *°  P'*°*'«*  patronage 
tended  to  enable^infto  appreciatrwith'^^  ^^^  ^^^ 

meretricious  genius  and  artific  a  t'asTp,  ft'^''  """"'"7'  ^^e 
Liberal.  It  is  certain  that  he  laulhl?  !u-''  ''T'^'^^'  ''^  ^^e 
lion  of  landscapes,  and  cons  deSu;*  ^'f  ^^'<^^^^  adn»ira. 
as  drawn  from  pictures  ^«  descriptions  of  scenery 

^'tlh^'CaVa  liruzz^'on  t  r  T^''''^^-  ^^^  ^«  ^^^d- 
cent  scenery,  he  haTpen^d  to  rL^^^^^^^  "^  "'"^"i^' 

of the  Alpsln  the  evemW  from Trin  fh  ^'  '^""^'^*  ^^^  ^'^^ 
had  ever  beheld.  "  It  is"  ^00^^^  »  '  •^j't  ^"Wimest  scene  he 
when  all  the  west  is  Uwr/nn  J  ?'  '^'''>'  "  at  such  a  time, 
template  such  vas  masses  o?th^en"f  ^'^'^^  them,  to  con! 
into  rest,  and  forgettiTsunh  ♦ht  "^^  ""'^^"^^  ^'"ff  '^wed 
"Hunt,"'  said  Inf  Shif  sm  lif/"  h"''"  '"^  ^'^  ^°"'««-" 
the  sublimity  of  AIpinniLrThfVi^'  "°  P^-^eption  of 
impostor."  ^       scenery ,  he  calls  a  mountain  a  great  ' 

LiK  haTS^entaitK^^^^^  t^  "- ^-  of  Tha- 

of  The  Vision  of  Judgment  was  a?rpnH^  T  '^'  '"^""^cript 
quality  known.  All  hhLorl^hi^llll' a""^  something  of  its 
tlie  idea  of  the  publication  Thl./^"*^',^*^''^  disturbed  at 
he  had  formed  Tth  Mr^^siellv  ^t  Tl  ^^^' -W''  ^^nn^-ion  ' 
Partnery  with  Mr.  Hum  WUhT  b/-  ^''^  '*'"  }'''  *'^«  ^^ 
tese  dislikes  I  have  nothinft;  do  it"t''  «r>J"«tice  of 
t^at  they  existed,  and  becamf  motts  w  th  tho J"'l'"?^  ^^'' 

iZ^nZ'Z^^^^^^^^  The  Vision  of 

Wished  themselves  nt  rl  ^®  copartnery  had  esta- 

fears.    MucTgo^d  could  nTh/''.-"'P''^'>'^  with  hopes  and 

;utragedthe4T,triecrs'en^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

the  memory  of  Georffe  III     To  nl         '^«  "''tion  towards 

Byron  contributed  thf  Heaven  and  EarT^  ""'"^"''  ^^rd 
which  has  been  much  Seorespnl  1  •  '  ^  '''"'^  ^'^^^^ 
fraternity  with  Don  J^n  nd'S  vi^rrw^"^"^^  °^  '*^ 
eontainsnoexpressiontowhinh.lLji!!?-_"^'^"^^"^«"t.'  ^ov  it 
a  liiouffht  at  variance  with  the  Genesis  ^^iZ^l^^^  ""^  ^;?'^^^^* 
ture  affords  no  instance  of  nnn^^i.-      .^'^^^^'y  of  I'tcra. 

tt«  plea  of  proSy    than  that  orff-""^'^  justifiable,  on 
flK)unds  in  literary  blemishes  b^^^^  ^^/f^-    ^hat  it 

^at  there  are  ha4  Ja^^L^ran^slft^^^^^^  ^^ 


190 


THE  LIFE  OP 


Mi 


'#.1 


disputed ;  but  still  it  abounds  in  a  grave  patriarchal  spirit,  and 
IS  echo  to  the  oracles  of  Adam  and  Melchisedeck.  It  may  not 
be  worthy  of  Lord  Byron's  genius,  but  it  does  him  no  dishon. 
our,  and  contains  passages  which  accord  with  the  solemn  di- 
apasons of  ancient  devotion.  The  disgust  which  The  Vision 
of  Judgment  had  produced,  rendered  it  easy  to  persuade  the 
world  that  there  was  impiety  in  the  Heaven  and  Earth ;  although 
in  point  of  fact,  it  may  be  described  as  hallowed  with  the  scrip.' 
tural  theology  of  Milton.  The  objections  to  its  literary  defects 
were  magnified  into  sins  against  worship  and  religion. 

The  Liberal  stopped  with  the  fourth  uumber,  I  believe.     It 
disappointed  not  merely  literary  men  in  gent -al,  but  even  the 
most  spedial  admirers  of  tlie  talents  of  the  contributors.    The 
mam  defect  of  the  work  was  a  lack  of  knowledge.    Neither  in 
style  nor  genius,  nor  even  in  general  ability,  was  it  wanting : 
but  where  it  showed  learning,  it  was  not  of  a  kind  in  which 
the  age  took  much  interest.    Moreover,  the  manner  and  cast 
i   u      '^  °^  ^^^  ^^^  writers  in  it  were  familiar  to  the  public, 
and  they  were  too  few  in  number  to  variegate  their  pages  with 
sufficient  novelty.     But  the  main  cause  of  the  failure  was  the 
antipathy  formed  and  fostered  against  it  before  it  appeared. 
It  was  cried  down,  and  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  it  did  not 
much  de-^erve  a  better  fate. 

With  The  Liberal,  I  shall  close  my  observations  on  the  works 
ot  l.ord  Byron.    They  ere  too  voluminous  to  be  examined  even 
in  the  brief  and  sketchy  manner  in  which  I  have  considered 
those  which  are  deemed  the  principal.    Besides,  they  are  not, 
like  them,  all  characteristic  of  the  author,  though  possessing 
great  similarity  in  style  and  thought  to  one  another.    Nor 
would  such  general  criticism  accord  with  the  plan  of  this  work. 
Lord  Byron  was  not  always  thinking  of  himself:  like  other 
authors,  he  sometimes  wrote  from  imaginary  circumstances ; 
and  often  fancied  both  situations  and  feelings  which  had  no  re- 
ference to  his  own,  nor  to  his  experience.     But  were  the  mat- 
ter  deserving  of  the  research,  I  am  persuaded,  that  with  Mr. 
Moore's  work,  and  the  poet's  original  journals,  notes,  and  let- 
ters,  innumerable  additions  might  be  made  to  the  list  of  pas.sa- 
ges  which  the  incidents  of  his  own  life  dictated. 

The  abandonment  of  The  Liberal  closed  his  Lordship's  con. 
nexion  with  Mr.  Hunt ;  their  friendship,  if  such  ever  really  ex. 
isted,  was  ended  long  before.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Byron 
has  not  given  some  account  of  it  himsi^lf;  for  the  manner  in 
Wincii  he  IS  represented  to  have  acted  towards  his  unfortunate 
^partner,  renders  anofher  version  of  the  tale  desirable.  At  the 
Mme  time— and  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  are  disposed  to 
magnify  the  faults  and  infirmities  of  Byron— I  fear  there  is  no 


patriarchal  spirit,  and 
lisedeck.     It  may  not 
does  him  no  dishon. 
with  the  solemn  di- 
st  which  The  Vision 
easy  to  persuade  the 
and  Earth  ;ahhough, 
[lowed  with  the  scrip, 
to  its  literary  defects 
and  religion, 
jmber,  I  believe.     It 
feiiL -al,  but  even  the 
B  contributors.    The 
wledge.     Neither  in 
ity,  was  it  wanting ; 
of  a  kind  in  which 
e  manner  and  cast 
imiliar  to  the  public, 
:ate  their  pages  with 
the  failure  was  the 
before  it  appeared, 
edged  that  it  did  not 

vations  on  the  works 
;o  be  examined  even 
^  I  have  considered 
isides,  they  are  not, 
,  though  possessing 
one  another.    Nor 
le  plan  of  this  work, 
himself:  like  other 
iry  circumstances; 
rs  which  had  no  re- 
But  were  the  mat- 
ded,  that  with  Mr. 
nils,  notes,  and  let- 
to  the  list  of  pasHa- 
ateci. 

lis  Lordship's  con- 
luch  ever  really  ex- 
fretted  that  Byron 
for  the  manner  in 
ds  his  unfortunate 
desirable.  At  the 
10  are  disposed  to 
-1  foar  there  is  no 


tORD  BTROW. 


191 


J«hLT  •     '.  •        .}  "'^  ^^''^ease  rather  increased  than  dimin 
casm,  and  caprice  felt  as  insolence.  "^^taken  for  sar- 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

last  for  Miasolonghi    ™^^'°'=°'''«»«  <>«  t^e  dissensions.-Embarks  at 

struggles  of  Seece.  ^'^  ^^'°"  ^"^  '"^^^^^^  towards  the 
h\!Vt^^  """""^'^  ^'.^  ^^"'"^  ^as  first  effectually  develooed- 
s    nes  andXT""'**''^  "^'\'"«^3^  °^  '''  moVroSc 

ment  tnth.lI^A  J^  ,  ^°™®'^  "^^'^es  a  personal  attach- 
ZoJ.fl  '  f  ^  P^'^^P'  "^^"y  of  J^'^  most  agreeable  local 

aSi  thP  3*  /J'%''^'''^'^  ^"d^^'i  aJo»e  calculated  to 
Ss    he  w,-,T.     '^  I'!uT  *'^.  humanity.     The  spirit  of  her 

rsDlpn^ir-  "*  ^""^  *^'  h^"*"'^™  of  ^^'  worthies ;  whatever 
18  splendid  m  genius,  unparalleled  in  art.  .rlorioul  Jn  AI; 

^iS/S^bSS^r """'''  ^"  *'"^  fiigl^-exi^lieiS 

one^of  thosf  ^Jr  ""^«^,^«"  i«  Greece,  he  was.  undoubtedly, 

10  interest,  but  he  was  not  also  one  fitted  to  do  her  causa 


i 


*t»' 


'i  I 


lits 


192 


THE  LIFE  OF 


much  service.  His  innate  indolence,  his  sedentary  habits,  and 
that  all-engrossing  consideration  for  himself,  which,  in  every 
situation,  marred  his  best  impulses,  were  shackles  upon  the 
practice  of  the  stern  bravery  in  himself  which  he  has  so  well 
expressed  in  his  works. 

It  was  expected  when  he  sailed  for  Greece,  nor  was  the  ex. 
pectation  unreasonable  with  those  who  believe  imagination  and 
passion  to  be  of  the  same  element,  that  the  enthusiasm  which 
flamed  so  highly  in  his  verse  was  the  spirit  of  action,  and  would 
prompt  him  to  undertake  some  great  enterprise.  But  he  was 
•only  an  artist;  he  could  describe  bold  adventures  and  represent 
high  feeling,  as  other  gifted  individuals  give  eloquence  to  can. 
vasg  and  activity  to  marble ;  but  he  did  not  possess  the  wisdom 
necessary  for  the  instruction  of  councils.  I  do,  therefore,  ven. 
ture  to  say,  that  in  embarking  for  Greece,  he  was  not  entirely 
influenced  by  such  exoterical  motives  as  the  love  of  glory  or  the 
aspirations  of  heroism.  His  laurels  had  for  some  time  ceased  to 
flourish,  the  sear  and  yellow,  the  mildew  and  decay,  had  fallen 
upon  them,  and  he  was  aware  that  the  bright  round  of  his  fame 
was  ovalling  from  the  full,  and  showing  the  dim  rough  edge  of 
waning. 

He  was,  moreover,  tired  of  the  Guiccioli,  and  again  afflicted 
with  a  desire  for  some  new  object  with  which  to  be  in  earnest. 
The  Greek  cause  seemed  to  offer  this,  and  a  better  chance  for 
distinction  thah  any  other  pursuit  in  which  he  could  then  en. 
gage.  In  the  spring  of  1823  he  accordingly  made  preparations 
for  transferring  himself  from  Genoa  to  Greece,  and  opened  a 
correspondence  with  the  leaders  of  the  insurrection,  that  the 
importance  of  his  adhesion  might  be  duly  appreciated. 

Greece,  with  a  fair  prospect  of  ultimate  success,  was  at  that 
time  as  distracted  in  her  councils  as  ever.  Her  arms  had  been 
victorious,  but  the  ancient  jealousy  of  the  Greek  mind  was  un- 
mitigated. The  third  campaign  had  commenced,  and  yet  no 
regular  government  had  been  organized ;  the  fiscal  resources 
of  the  country  were  neglected ;  a  wild  energy  against  the  Otto- 
mans  was  all  that  tlie  Greeks  could  depend  on  for  continuing 
the  war. 

Lord  Byron  arrived  in  Cephalonia  about  the  middle  of  Au- 
gust,  1823,  where  he  fixed  his  residence  for  some  time.  This 
was  prudent,  but  it  said  nothing  for  that  spirit  of  enterprise 
with  which  a  man  engaging  in  such  a  cause,  in  such  a  country, 

and  with  Simn  n  nAnnlA    mirrlif  in  \\aTra  \\aan  onifntoA:^^^,r\anAn\o\\v 

after  Marcc  Botzaris,  one  of  the  best  and  most  distinguished  of 
the  chiefs,  had  earnestly  urged  him  to  join  hira  at  Missolonghi. 
I  fear  that  I  may  not  be  able  to  do  justice  to  Byron's  part  in 
th«  affairs  of  Greece;  but  I  shall  try.    He  did  not  disappoint 


edentar^  habits,  and 
elf,  which,  in  every 
!  ehackles  upon  the 
/hich  he  has  so  well 

3ce,  nor  was  the  ex- 
eve  imagination  and 
9  enthusiasm  which 
of  action,  and  would 
rprise.  But  he  was 
itures  and  represent 
ve  eloquence  to  can. 
possess  the  wisdom 
I  do,  therefore,  ven- 
he  was  not  entirely 
B  love  of  glory  or  the 
some  time  ceased  to 
nd  decay,  had  fallen 
ht  round  of  his  fame 
e  dim  rough  edge  of 

,  and  again  afflicted 
ich  to  be  in  earnest. 
i  a  better  chance  for 
h  he  could  then  en- 
y  made  preparations 
reece,  and  opened  a 
tsurrection,  that  the 
appreciated, 
success,  was  at  that 
Her  arms  had  been 
jrreek  mind  was  un- 
imenced,  and  yet  no 
the  fiscal  resources 
gy  against  the  Otto- 
id  on  for  continuing 

it  the  middle  of  Au- 

T  some  time.    This 

spirit  of  enterprise 

e,  in  such  a  country, 


on« 


lost  distinguished  of 
him  at  Missolonghi. 
e  to  Byron's  part  in 
9  did  not  disappoint 


LORD  BYRON. 


198 


me,  for  he  only  acted  vs  might  have  been  expected,  from  his 
unsteady  energies.  Many,  however,  of  his  otherfriends  longed 

7!i'?i,  *^^"  °^  ^''^^  ^'^'°  of  heroism,  by  which  thev  anlici- 
pated  that  his  appearance  in  the  field  would  be  distinguished 

Among  Ills  earhest  proceedinjrs  was  the  equipment  of  forty 
fn  hl'^L?''  "^"^^"Vll'^'  ^vhotn  he  sent  to  Marco  Botzaris  to  assist 
m  tl  e  defence  of  Misso  onpln.  An  -id venturer  of  more  daring 
would  have  gono  with  them;  and  when  the  battle  was  over  in 

IZl  u''^^A"^  *'"' 1°  *^T"^"""'^d  bandages  and  medicines,' of 
which  ho  had  brought  a  large  supply  from  Italy,  and  pecuniary 
succour  to  the  wounded.  This  was  considerate ;  but  there  was 

00  much  consideration  in  all  that  he  did  at  this  time,  neither 
m  unison  with  the  impulses  of  his  natural  character,  nor  con. 
sistent  with  the  heroic  enthusiasm  witii  which  the  admirers  of 
bis  poetry  imagined  he  was  kindled. 

In  the  mean  time  he  had  otFered  to  advance  one  thousand 
dollars  a-month  tor  the  succour  of  Missolonghi  and  the  troops 
with  Marco  Botzaris ;  but  the  government,  instead  of  accepting 
the  offer,  intimated  that  they  wished  previously  to  confer  with 
him,  which  he  interpreted  into  a  desire  to  direct  the  expendi- 
ture  of  the  money  to  other  purposes.  In  this  opinion  his  Lord, 
ship  was  probably  not  mistaken;  but  his  own  account  of  his 
teelmg  m  the  business  does  not  tend  to  exalt  the  magnanimity 
of  his  atiachment  to  the  cause :  "  I  will  take  care,"  says  he, 

that  It  IS  for  the  public  cause,  otherwise  I  will  not  advance  a 
para.  Ihe  opposition  say  they  want  to  cajole  me,  and  the 
party  m  power  say  the  others  wish  to  seduce  me ;  so,  between 
Uw  two,  I  have  a  difficult  part  to  play ;  however,  I  will  have 
Mssible  "°  factions,  unless  to  reconcile  them,  if 

A.II  K  '^'^''"l*  *°  conceive  that  Lord  Byron,  "Ihe  searcher  of 
dark  bosoms,';  could  have  expressed  himself  so  weakly  and 
with  such  vanity ;  but  the  shadow  of  coming  fate  had  already 
reached  him,  and  his  judgment  was  suffering  in  the  blight  that 
had  fallen  on  his  reputation.  To  think  of  the  possibility  of  re- 
concilmg  two  Greek  factions,  or  any  factions,  implies  a  degree 

0  ignorance  of  mankind,  which,  unless  it  had  been  given  in 
ms  Lordship's  own  writing,  would  not  have  been  credible; 
and  as  to  having  nothing  to  do  with  the  factions,  for  what  pur- 
pose went  he  to  Greece,  unless  it  was  to  take  a  part  with  one 

01  them  /  I  abstain  from  saying  what  I  think  of  his  hesitation 
«!  going  10  Ihe  government  instead  of  sending  two  of  his  as- 
wciated  adventurers,  Mr.  Trelawney  and  Mr.  Hamilton  Brown, 
Whom  he  despatched  to  collect  intelligence  as  to  the  real  state 

2  things,  substituting  their  judgment  for  his  own.  When  the 
nercules,  the  ship  he  chartered  to  carry  him  to  Greece,  weighed 


194 


THE  LIFE  or 


mi 


■  <v*t 


SiUir 


anchor,  he  was  committed  with  the  Greeks,  and  every  thing 
short  of  unequivocal  folly,  he  was  bound  to  have  done  with  and 
for  them. 

His  two  emissaries  or  envoys  proceeded  to  Tripolizza, 
where  they  found  Colocotroni  seated  in  the  palace  of  the  late 
vizier,  Vclhi  Pashaw,  in  great  power ;  the  court-yard  and  gal- 
leries  filled  with  armed  men  in  garrison,  while  there  was  no 
enemy  at  that  time  in  the  Morea  able  to  come  against  them! 
The  Greek  chieftains,  like  their  classic  predecessors,  though 
embarked  in  the  same  adventure,  were  perso)  al  adversaries  to 
each  other.  Colocotroni  spoke  of  his  compeer  Mavrocordato  in 
the  very  language  of  Agamemnon,  when  he  said  that  he  had 
declared  to  hira,  unless  he  desisted  from  his  ititrigues,  he 
would  mount  him  on  an  ass  and  whip  him  out  of  the  Morea; 
and  that  he  had  only  been  restrained  from  doing  so  by  the  re- 
presentation  of  his  friends,  who  thought  it  would  injure  their 
common  cause.  Such  was  the  spirit  of  the  chiefs  of  the  fac- 
tions which  Lord  Byron  thought  it  not  impossible  to  reconcile! 

At  this  time  Missolonghi  was  in  a  critical  state,  being 
blockaded  both  by  land  and  sea;  and  the  report  of  Trelawney 
to  Lord  Byron  concerning  it,  was  calculated  to  rouse  his  Lord- 
8hip  to  activity.  "  There  have  been,"  says  he,  "  thirty  battles 
fought  and  won  by  the  late  Marco  Botzaris,  and  his  gallant 
tribe  of  Suliotes,  who  are  shut  up  in  Missolonghi.  If  it  fall, 
Athens  will  be  in  danger,  and  thousands  of  throats  cut:  a  few 
thousand  dollars  would  provide  ships  to  relieve  it ;  a  portion  of 
this  sum  is  raised,  and  I  would  coin  my  heart  to  save  this  key 
of  Greece."  Bravely  said  !  but  deserving  of  little  attention. 
The  fate  of  Missolonghi  could  have  had  no  visible  effect  on 
that  of  Athens. 

The  distance  between  these  two  places  is  more  than  a  hun- 
dred miles,  and  Lord  Byron  was  well  acquainted  with  the  local 
difficulties  of  the  intervening  country ;  still  it  was  a  point  to 
which  the  eyes  of  the  Greeks  were  all  at  that  time  directed; 
and  Mavrocordato,  then  in  correspondence  with  Lord  Byron, 
and  who  was  endeavouring  to  collect  a  fleet  for  the  relief  of  the 
place,  induced  his  Lordship  to  undertake  to  provide  the  money 
necessary  for  the  equipment  of  the  fleet,  to  the  extent  of  twelve 
thousand  pounds.  It  was  on  this  occasion  his  Lordship  ad- 
dressed a  letter  to  the  Greek  chiefs,  that  deserves  to  be  quoted, 
for  the  sagacity  with  which  it  suggests  what  may  be  the  COR- 
uuuiui  LMu  grcaicsi  puwurs  -oi  vyiiiiatciiaoiii. 

"I  must  frankly  confess,"  says  he,  "that  unless  union  anc 
order  are  confirmed,  all  hopes  of  a  loan  will  be  in  vain,  and  all 
the  assistance  which  the  Greeks  could  expect  from  abroad,  an 
assiBtance  which  might  be  neither  trifling  nor  worthleBi,  will 


8,  and  every  thing 
lave  done  with  and 

led  to  Tripolizza, 
)  palace  of  the  late 
;ourt-yard  and  gal- 
while  there  was  no 
ime  against  them! 
■edecessors,  though 
10)  ill  adversaries  to 
2r  Mavrocordato  in 
e  said  that  he  had 

his  intrigues,  he 
1  o>it  of  the  Morea; 
doing  so  hy  the  re- 
would  injure  their 
e  chiefs  of  the  fac 
)ssible  to  reconcile! 
itical  state,  being 
port  of  Trelawney 

to  rouse  his  Lord- 
he,  "  thirty  battles 
is,  and  his  gallant 
)longhi.     If  it  fall, 

throats  cut:  a.  few 
3ve  it ;  a  portion  of 
irt  to  save  this  key 

of  little  attention. 
10  visible  effect  on 

3  more  than  a  bun- 
inted  with  the  local 
1  it  was  a  point  to 
that  time  directed; 
with  Lord  Byron, 
for  the  relief  of  the 
provide  the  money 
he  extent  of  twelve 
1  his  Lordship  ad- 
lerves  to  be  quoted, 
at  may  be  the  con- 
it  unless  union  and 
be  in  vain,  and  all 
!ct  fronfi  abroad,  «n 
nor  worthies*,  will 


LORD  BYRON. 


195 


be  susj^nded  or  destroyed ;  and  what  is  worse,  the  p-rcat  pow- 
ers  of  Europe,  of  whom  no  one  was  an  enemy  to  (Ireece,  but 
seemed  inclined  to  favour  her  in  consenting  to  tlie  establishment 
of  an  independent  power,  will  be  persuaded  that  the  Greeks 
are  unable  to  govern  themselves,  and  will,  perhaps,  undertake 
to  arrange  your  disorders  in  such  a  way,  as  to  blast  the  brighU 
est  hopes  you  indulge,  and  that  arc  indulged  by  your  friends." 
In  the  mean  time.  Lord  Byron  was  still  at  the  villa  he  had 
hired  m  Cephalonia,  wliere  his  conduct  was  rather  that  of  a 

o«!u^^!.°xT*^*''"  ""  ''"^'    ^'"^""^-'^  Stanhope,  in  a  letter  of  the 
Mil  of  November,  describes  him  as  having  been  there  about 
three  months,  and  spending  his  time  exactly  as  every  one  ac 
quainted  with  his  habits  must  have  expected.    "  The  first  six 
weeks  he  spent  on  board  a  merchant-vessel,  and  seldom  went 
on  shore,  except  on  business.  Siiico  that  period  he  has  lived  in 
a  little  villa  m  the  country,  in  absolute   retirement.     Count 
Gamba  (brother  to  the  Guiccioli)  being  his  only  companion."— 
huch,  surely,  was  not  exactly  playing  that  part  in  the  Greek 
cause  which  he  had  taught  the  world  to  look  for.     It  is  true  ' 
that  the  accounts  received  there  of  the  Greek  affairs  were  not 
then  favourable.     Every  body  concurred  in  representing  tho 
executive-  government  as  devoid  of  public  virtue,  and  actuated 
by  avarice  or  personal  ambition.    This  intelligence  was   'er. 
tainly  not  calculated  to  increase  Lord  Byron's  ardour,  and  may 
partly  excuse  the  causes  of  his  personal  inactivity.     I  say  per- 
•tonal,  because  he  had  written  to  London  to  accelerate  the  at- 
tempt  to  raise  a  loan,  and,  at  the  suggestion  of  Colonel  Stan- 
nope,  he  addressed  a  letter  to  Mavrocordato  respecting  the  in. 
evitable  consequences  of  their  calamitous  dissensions.  The  ob- 
jeot  of  this  letter  was  to  induce  a  reconf  >  s  don  between  the 
nval  factions,  or  to  throw  the  odium,  of  iiaving  thwarted  the 
loan,  upon  the  Executive,  and  thereby  to  degrade  the  members 
of  It  m  the  opinion  of  the  people.     "  I  am  very  uneasy,"  says 
his  Lordship  to  the  prince,  "at  hearing  that  the  dissensions  of 
t»reece   still   continue;   and,  at  a  moment  when   she   might 
triumph  over  every  thing  in  general,  as  she  has  triumphed  in 
part.    Greece  is  at  present  placed  between  three  measures; 
either  to  reconquer  her  liberty,  or  to  become  a  dependence  of 
the  sovereigns  of  Europe,  or  to  return  to  a  Turkish  province ; 
she  has  already  the  choice  only  of  these  three  alternatives. 

•; •  •"^'-  «  1""'^  -.villi;?!  icaus  lo  inc  iw^o  xatrer.    il  she  is 

desirous  of  the  fate  of  Walachia  and  the  Crimea,  she  may  obtain 
It  tp.morrow ;  if  Ihat  of  Italy,  the  day  after.  But,  if  she  wishes 
to  become  truly  Greece,  free  and  independent,  she  must  resolve 
to-day,  or  she  will  never  again  have  the  opportunity,"  &c.  &c. 
Meanwhile  the  Greek  people  became   impatient  foi  Lord 


i 


106 


THE  LIJE  OP 


Byron  to  come  among  them.    They  looked  forward  to  his 
arrival  as  to  the  romiiiff  of  a  Messiah.    Three  boats  were  sue. 
cessively  despatched  lor  him ;  and  two  of  them  returned,  one 
after  the  other,  without  him.    On  the  29th  of  December,  1823 
however,  his  Lordship  did  at  last  embark.  * 


r'i 


CHAPTER  XTJII. 

Lord  Byron's  conversations  on  religion  with  Dr.  Kennedy. 

While  Lord  Byron  was  hositatinor,  in  the  island  of  Cepha. 
Ionia,  about  pruceeding  to  Greece,  an  occurrence  took  place 
of  whicli  so  much  has  been  made,  that  I  may  not  venture  to 
cast  It  into  the  notes  of  the  appendix.  I  allude  to  the  acquaint, 
ance  ne  formed  with  a  Dr.  Kennedy,  the  publication  of  whose 
conversations  with  him  on  religion,  has  attracted  some  decrreo 
of  public  ultention. 

This  gentleman  was  originally  destined  for  the  Scottish  bar, 
but  afterwards  became  a  student  of  medicine,  and  entering  the 
medical  department  of  tlic  army,  iiappencd  to  be  stationed  in 
Cephalonia  wh(m  Lord  Byron  arrived.  He  appears  to  have 
b3en  a  man  of  kind  dispositions,  possessed  of  a  bettor  heart 
than  judgment;  in  all  places,  wherever  his  duty  bore  him.  he 
took  a  lively  interest  in  the  condition  of  ihe  inhabitants,  and 
was  active,  both  in  his  official  and  private  capacitv,  to  improve 
It.  He  had  a  taste  for  circulating  pious  tracts,  and  zealously 
co-operated  in  distributing  copies  of  the  Scriptures. 
_  Firmly  settled  himself  in  a  conviction  of  the  truth  of  Chris- 
tianity, he  was  eager  to  make  converts  to  his  views  of  the 
doctrines ;  but  whether  he  was  exactly  the  kind  of  apostle  to 
achieve  the  conversion  of  Lord  Byron,  may,  perhaps,  bo  doubt- 
ed. His  smcerity  and  the  disinterestedness  of  his  endeavours 
would  secure  to  him  from  his  Lordship  an  indulgent  and  even 
patient  hearing.  But  I  fear  that  without  some  more  effectual 
calling,  the  arguments  he  appears  to  have  employed  were  not 
iikely  to  have  made  Lord  Byron  a  proselyte  His  Lordship 
was  so  constituted  in  his  mind,  and  by  his  temperament,  that 
nothing  short  of  regeneration  could  have  made  him  a  Christian, 
according  to  the  gospel  of  Dr.  Kennedy. 

Lord  Byron  had  but  loose  feelings  in  religion— scarcely  any. 

■^  •.•V""'">'  ''""  =*  Might  consiituuonai    ieunuig  towards 

superstition  and  omens,  showed  that  the  sense  of  devotion  was, 
however,  alive  and  awake  within  him ;  but  with  him  religion 
was  a  sentiment,  and  the  convictions  of  the  imderstanding  had 


LORD  BYnojr. 


197 


h  Dr.  Kennedy. 


nothing  whatever  to  do  with  his  crrrii     TKn?  u  j      . 

ITs  wo  k  whiTnnV'.  ^""T'  ^'"P^^'""-^  '^'  '^'^^  portions  ;/ 
bear  X  imnii  •  ^  ^'^""^  ^°'^*'"^'  ^''«  «"bject,  and  which 
ted  a   evidZr/'' R  ?7''""°"''  '^"'^  ^-^^nestnesi.  m^y  be  admit. 

Uon  ei?hr"r;  'r  '"^  "'''^"^  ^*^«  represented,  of  iny  predilet 

enti;eTv  owilt    "^  ''  P""''P'^'  ^^"-^^''  ChristianitjT  but 
on  evirv  2  °   °  ^''^''"'^  peculiarity  of  mind.    Ho  reasoned 

?oces7of  ri?  V"''h  ''''^''  '^'"'  ^y  induction  or  any 

to  class  him  „!^  subject.  I  am  persuaded,  nevertheless,  that 
to  Class  him  amon?  absolute  infidels,  were  to  do  injusMce  to  his 
of 'ThTrf^fdll':^^^^^^  fufFered  uncharitably  T^l^ 
Lolir*^     ^"^.     "''*     ^^''°'  because  he  had  not  attached 

i  no  Ye  evefpm  V  '^  7-"*^  ^^  '"'P^^^^^'  ^^  ''^rtainly  couW 

I  am  myself  a  moderate  Presbyterian. 

I .  ^•!!^^^^J  constituted  like  that  of  Lord  Byron  was  littl     ,«. 
pUble  of  impressions  from  the  arguments  tf^Tdnai  mem 
I  It  was  necessa-y  chat  Truth,  in  vishin,,  h;^    „k°:,,I,  *'Z."'®"- 

i'ZZ^'  ^'""tj  'f  '''^^^  and  R^^e^^ncr^i;^ 
precursors.    Acknowledged  superiority,  yoa,  celebrated  wis 

Antli  *"^'^P«"«^ble  to  bespeak  his  since  e  at  ention  ;  ^d 
wuhout  dispara^^nt,  it  may  be  fairly  «.id.  these  wei^ 


-•'tp^^plw 


198 


THE  LIFE  OW 


the  attributes  of  Dr.  Kennedy.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  a 
tamt  of  cant  about  him— perhaps  he  only  acted  like  those  who 
have  It— but,  still  he  was  not  exactly  the  dignitary  to  command 
unaffected  deference  from  the  shrewd  and  irreverent  author  of 
Don  Juan.  The  result  verified  what  ought  to  have  been  the 
anticipation.  The  Doctor's  attempt  to  quicken  Byron  to  a 
sense  of  grace,  failed :  but  his  Lordship  treated  him  with  po- 
liteness. Tiie  history  of  the  affair  will,  however,  be  more  inter- 
e^mg  than  any  reflections  which  it  is  in  my  humble  power  to 
offer. 

Some  of  Dr.  Kennedy's  acquaintances  wished  to  hear  him 
explain,  in  '» a  logical  and  demonstrative  manner,  the  evidences 
and  doctrines  of  Christianity ;"  and  Lord  Byron,  hearing  of 
the  interided  meeting,  desired  to  be  present,  and  was  accord- 
mgly  invited.  He  attended ;  but  was  not  present  at  several  others 
which  followed  ;  he  however  intimated  to  the  Doctor,  that  he 
would  be  glad  to  converse  with  him,  and  the  invitation  was 
accepted.  "  On  religion,"  says  the  Doctor,  "  his  Lordship  was 
in  general  a  hearer,  proposing  his  difficulties  and  objections 
with  more  fairness  than  could  have  been  expected  from  one 
under  similar  circumstances ;  and  with  so  much  candour,  that 
they  often  seemed  to  be  proposed  more  for  the  purpose  of  pro- 
curing information,  or  satisfactory  answers,  than  from  anv 
other  motive."  .  ^ 

At  the  first  meeting.  Dr.  Kennedy  explained,  becomingly, 
his  views  on  the  subject,  and  that  he  had  read  every  work 
against  Christianity  which  fell  in  his  way.  It  was  tliis  consi- 
deration which  had  induced  him  with  such  confidence  to  enter 
upon  the  discussion,  knowing,  on  the  one  hand,  the  strength 
of  Christianity,  and  on  the  other,  the  weakness  of  its  assailants. 

To  show  you,  therefore,"  said  the  Doctor,  "the  grounds  oa 
which  I  demand  your  attention  to  what  I  may  say  on  the 
nature  and  evidence  of  Christianity,  I  shall  mention  the  names 
?if'"l  ,^  f  ^'^*'^o''s  whose  works  I  have  read  or  consulted." 
When  he  had  mentioned  all  these  names.  Lord  Byron  asked 
It  he  had  read  Barrow's  and  Stillingfleet's  works  ?  The  Doctor 
replied,  "  I  have  seen  them,  but  I  have  not  read  them." 

After  a  disquisition,  chiefly  relative  to  the  history  of  Chris- 
tianity.  Dr.  Kennedy  observed,  "  We  must,  on  afl  occasions, 
but  more  particularly  in  fair  and  logical  discussions  with  seep- 
^^cs,  or  Deists,  make  a  distinction  between  Christianity,  as  it 
"„  °""  '"  Vi?  Scriptures,  and  the  en-ors,  abuses,  and  imper- 
zocaons  ui  -.^.iristians  tiieiiistjives.  'I'o  this  his  Lordship  re- 
marked,  that  ne  always  had  taken  care  to  make  that  distinc- 
Hon,  as  he  knew  enough  of  Christianity  to  feel  that  it  was  both 
necessary  and  just    The  Doctor  remarked  that  the  contrarj 


contrary,  there  was  a 
acted  like  those  who 
lignitary  to  command 
i  irreverent  author  of 
ight  to  have  been  the 
quicken  Byron  to  a 
treated  him  with  po- 
vvever,  be  more  inter- 
my  humble  power  to 

I  wished  to  hear  him 
fianner,  the  evidences 
d  Byron,  hearing  of 
ent,  and  was  accord- 
isent  at  several  others 
)  the  Doctor,  that  he 
d  the  invitation  was 
",  "  his  Lordship  was 
ilties  and  objecnons 
1  expected  from  one 

•  much  candour,  that 
:  the  purpose  of  pro- 
ers,  than  from  any 

plained,  becomingly, 
ad  read  every  work 

•  It  was  this  consi< 
1  confidence  to  enter 

hand,  the  strength 
less  of  its  assailants. 
>r,  "  the  grounds  on 

I  may  say  on  the 
I  mention  the  names 
!  read  or  consulted." 

Lord  Byron  asked 
works  ?  The  Doctor 

read  them." 
the  history  of  Chris- 
ist,  on  all  occasions, 
jcussions  with  scep- 
n  Christianity,  as  it 

abuses,  and  imper. 
is  his  Lordship  re- 

make  that  distinc- 
feel  that  it  was  both 
i  that  the  contrary 


LORD  BYRON. 


199 


statement.     ufihe^^ZZl;,'^^^^^^^  the 

trines  of  Christianitv  •  Lt  hl^^  ^  ^^^  fundamental  doc 
observed  .ignf  S;t,ence  in 't  "?  r'''^"^  ^''^  ^^en  he 
these  sentiLnts  aSdcd  with  ^hn  D^^^"'  7^'^  \^^^^red  if 

swered  they  did,  and  wfth  those  of  all  ^o^utdChrrst?  '""^  '"" 
m  one  or  two  minor  thinir^  hio  t  J  l^  Christians,  except 
not  wish  to  he^r  the  ooi^Tn^  nf.H^'^'^'P  '"^jo'^^d,  that  he  did 
read  at  any  time,  but  Syhi«own"X'^r  7"^"^^  ^'  ^°"^^ 
till  coming\o  the  expreslt"  ^Tace  of  God"  hL  '";?'  ^"' 
quired,  "  what  do  you  mean  by  grace  ?»  t  t    '^'^  '"i 

fundamental  mean  ng  of  the  word  ''  Li:  a  ''IP"'"^''^  and 
what  surprised  at  his  ^1^06   ri  n?ll-"^  ^"?°'''  «°™^- 

;  is  favour ;  though  it  va?raceo;d  ig'^the  eon^^^^^^^^^^ 

that  disposition  of  God  whinh  i«..^    i  •     .     context  to  express 

action  of  doin/so  or  the  ?n li!  .  I!?  *"  ?'^"^  '^  ^'^^o"'"'  ^^e 
who  receive  if ''  %Z  '^"''  '^^^^^'  °^  '^^  effects  on  those 

greatest  master,  then  in  existeT»  ^f^i'    S    ^  u°PP"'°  ""» 

fel'':.P,'°'?'f  f  !>^.'^?">."  «y»  the  Doctor'r.nd.h:S" 

the  reader  a>  to  the  qualitj  of  ,he  000^^^^^''^ 
M  Ule  snbjecl  m  its  bearings  touehe,  Ix>rd  CS  S '  ^r 
I  .hall  proceed  .  litUe  further  into  the  m^row  rfth.  ™S^'' 


200 


THE  LIFE  OP 


fMs 


^m 


The  inculcation  being  finished  for  that  evening,  Lord  Byron 
said   that  when  he  was  young  his  mother  brought  him  ur, 
strictly ;  and  that  he  had  access  to  a  great  many  theoloffical 
works,  and  remembered  that  he  was  particularly  pleased  with 
l^arrow  8  writings,  and  that  he  also  went  regularly  to  church. 
We  declared  that  he  was  not  an  infidel  who  denied  the  Scrip, 
tures  and  wished  to  remain  in  unbelief;  on  the  contrary    he 
was  desirous  to  beheve,  as  he  experienced  no  happiness  in  hav- 
ing his  re  igious  opinions  so  unready  and  unfixed.     But  he 
cou'd  not,  he  added,  understand  the  Scriptures.    "  Those  peo. 
pie  who  conscientiously  believe,  I  always  have  respected,  and 
was  always  disposed  to  trust  in  them  more  than  in  others."   A 
desultory  conversation  then  ensued,  respecting  the  language 
and  translations  of  the  Scriptures;  in  the  course  of  which  his 
Lordship  remarked,  that  Scott,  in  his  Commentary  on  the  Bible 
did  not  say  that  it  was  the  devil  who  tempted  Eve,  nor  does  the 
Bib  e  say  a  word  about  the  devil.    It  is  only  said  that  the  ser- 
pent  spoke  and  that  it  was  the  subtlest  of  all  the  beasts  of  the 
held.— Will  It  be  said  that  truth  and  reason  were  served  by  Dr. 
Kennedy  3*  answer  ?      "As  beasts  have  not  the  faculty  of 
speech,  the  just  inference  is,  that  the  beast  was  only  an  instru- 
ment made  use  of  by  some  invisible  and  superior  beine.    The 
Scriptures  accordingly  toll  us,  that  the  devil  is  the  father  of 
lies— the  he  made  by  the  serpent  to  Eve  being  the  first  we 
have  on  record ;  they  call  him  also  a  murderer  from  the  bcffin- 
nmg,  as  he  was  the  cause  of  the  sentence  of  death  which  was 
pronounced  against  Adam  and  all  his  posterity;  and  still  fur- 
ther,  to  remove  all  doubt,  and  to  identify  him  as  the  agent 
who  used  the  serpent  as  an  instrument,  he  is  called  the  ser- 
pent — the  devil." 

«f  w'^i^^r"  inquired  what  the  Doctor  thought  of  the  theory 

°\^,*'^^?°V''**  ^^^  ^^^^  h^*^  "'^  distinct  idea  of  a  future 
state  ?  The  Doctor  acknowledged  that  he  had  often  seen,  but 
had  rever  read  The  Divine  Legation.  And  yet,  he  added,  had 
Warburton  read  his  Bible  with  more  simplicity  and  attention, 
he  would  have  enjoyed  a  more  solid  and  honourable  fame. 

h.lJ'!i  ?  ^fu*''^"'^^'^''''^*^"^  ""^^^^  g'-^^t^st  difficulties 
he  had  met  with,  was  the  existence  of  so  much  pure  and  un- 
mixed evil  in  the  world,  and  which  he  could  not  reconcile  to 
theideaof  a  benevolent  Creator.  The  Doctor  set  aside  the 
?-f!nn°"  r  M  ^>^f' i^»"  o^  evil ;  but  granted  the  extensive  ex- 
istence  of  evil  m  the  universe  ;  to  remedy  which,  he  said,  tha 
wspwi  wag  proclaimed ;  and,  after  some  of  the  customary  com- 


vening,  Lord  Byron 
3r  brought  him  up 
it  many  theological 
iularly  pleased  with 
•egularly  to  church. 
3  denied  the  Scrip- 
n  the  contrary,  he 

0  happiness  in  hav- 
i  unfixed.    But  he 
jres.    "  Those  peo- 
mve  respected,  and 
than  in  others."   A 
:ting  the  language 
jourse  of  which  his 
mtary  on  the  Bible, 
d  Eve,  nor  does  the 
y  said  that  the  ser- 
11  the  beasts  of  the 
were  served  by  Dr. 
lot  the  faculty  of 
vas  only  an  instru- 
>erior  being.    The 

1  is  the  father  of 
being  the  first  we 
er  from  the  begin- 
i*  death  which  was 
rity ;  and  still  fur- 
him  as  the  agent 

is  called  the  ser- 

ight  of  the  theory 
!t  idea  of  a  future 
ad  often  seen,  but 
'^et,  he  added,  had 
ity  and  attention, 
)urable  fame, 
eatest  difficulties 
ch  pure  and  un- 
not  reconcile  to 
or  set  aside  the 
the  extensive  ex- 
liich,  he  said,  the 
)  customary  com- 

ndinjr  Sir  Willr^'ai 


LORD    BYROJV.' 


201 


ciples  inquired,  when  hev"^  sa't^'''  ^'^^  ')"  'f^^y-  ^he  dis- 
blind,  whither  t  was  owS  to  L  ""'"  T^°  *^^^  ^'"^  ^orn 
and,  after  quotino-  t h!  I.?^     •     '  °'^"  °''  ^'«  Parents'  sin  ?— 

or  punishment,  but  ar^i^^te  iSn  I  ""'^  ''^^^'  ^  judgment 
government  of  the  w^rld  "''^''"  '''^'^'"  ^"^^^  i"  the 

Te^mtrvvS  tt'^uJ'Z'f'^  "a  prophecy  in  the  New 
it  was  dec  arJ^ha  he  cnf  of^r  ""''^T  '"^^"«^'  ^'^^ough 
the  generation  then  Vxttfl  f  n  '"'^'^'^  ^°"^^  ^""^^  before 
diction,"  said  Dr    Cn  7v  ^r"i^  Pr«- 

Jcrusalem,  which  ceSvLl/,'*  °.^^  destruction  of 
ed;  though  some  of  he  p7,!r  .  ^''"f  '''*'""  ^^«  ^ime  assign- 
that  remfrkabreve  t%rp^T'""t^'''"P'^""  °^"t^-  ^igns  of 
apply  to  ChrTst's     o^^Ttolj;^^  ^^^ppL  to 

time."  "     ^  ^°  i^^Se  the  world,  at  the  end  of 

ha?l:^S.:!;^^^^;::i^^t.^^^^    tl.t  there 

since  CluistianitfinXtes  Z'''''  l^'''  ^/  °^^^^^-'"ff'  ^hat 
we  must  ahvays  separa^^^^^^^^^  ^r^"^^"  '^  ^"  'nen, 

which  its  profeiorsfre  guilty         ^'°"  ^'°"^  *>  ^^"«^«  <>f 

ooJvrsat"  ThrDUrinrr'  byhisWdshlpin  the 
God,  had  alluded  to  the  sim L  H^f  r?f  °^  *'^^  sovereignty  of 
for  his  LordHhip  said  if  hi  „"  u  ''^  P""^""  ^"^  ^"«  ^lay ; 
say  to  the  potter  "  Whv  i  '*  *"'°''^"  ^"  P^«^««'  ''e  would 

was  an  absE^dit;'.  SlslIf'Vrf  7 '''"ff  '^^^  ^^^^^ 
hell,  he  would  prefer  goWwthhpm^^^^^  world  were  going  to 
Such  was  the  resuhof  tfJi  /  ^  *m^"  ^°  alone  to  heaven, 
may  venture  the  alu  on  it  ff^'T';^  of  Cephalonia,  if  one 
Tor  Lord  Byron's  inTenuity  C"i;f '*' '"'??,"'  '"^^"^  "^"^^^ 
the  Doctor ;  and  that'he  xla«  nnf  ^'^^f""y  a  matci,  for 
ject  under  discussion  ""acquamted  with  the  sub. 

wi^l^'r^SSril^r'  ^-"-P-t^d.  "I  have  no 
trary.  I  an!  ^r^^^S^E^r^^r^^^'^^  ^  -  ^'^e  eon- 
jnuchthe  need  of  a  Saviour,  nor  he  nfi'lif:  ^"^  "°^^^"  '"3^ 
"  the  afi^cUon  of  the  heart]  Z^i^^Lr  ^^S  I^t 


202 


THE  LIFE  OF 


t^ 


R-J"' 


^Sl 


ml 


wonders  of  creation,  I  bow  to  the  Majesty  of  Heaven ;  and 
when  I  feel  the  enjoyments  of  life,  I  feol  grateful  to  God  for 
having  bestowed  them  upon  me."  Upon  this,  some  discussion 
arose,  turning  chiefly  on  the  passage  in  the  third  chapter  of 
John,  **  Unless  a  man  is  converted,  he  cannot  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  Heaven;"  which  naturally  led  to  an  explanatory 
interlocutor  concerning  new  birth,  regeneration,  &c. ;  and 
thence  diverged  into  the  topics  which  had  been  the  subject  of 
the  former  conversation. 

Among  otljer  things.  Lord  Byron  inqtiired,  if  the  Doctor 
really  thought  that  the  devil  appeared  before  God,  as  is  men- 
tioned in  the  book  of  Job,  or  is  it  only  an  allegorical  or  poetical 
mode  of  speaking  ? — The  reply  was,  "  I  believe  it  in  the  strict 
and  literal  meaning." 

'*  If  it  be  received  in  a  literal  sense,"  said  his  Lordship,  "  it 
gives  me  a  much  higher  idea  of  the  majesty,  power,  and  wisdom 
of  God,  to  believe  that  th^  devils  themselves  are  at  his  nod,  and 
are  subject  to  his  control,  with  as  much  ease  as  the  elements 
of  nature  follow  the  respective  laws  which  his  will  has  assign. 
ed  them." 

This  notion  was  characteristic,  and  tlie  poetical  feeling 
in  which  it  originated,  when  the  Doctor  attempted  to  explain 
the  doctrine  of  the  Manicheans,  was  still  more  distinctly  de- 
veloped ;  for  his  Lordship  again  expressed  how  much  the  be- 
lief of  the  real  appearance  of  Satan,  to  hear  and  obey  the 
commands  of  God,  added  to  his  views  of  the  grandeur  and 
majesty  of  the  Creator. 

This  second  conversation  was  more  desrjtory  than  the  first ; 
relgion  was  brought  in  only  incidentally,  until  his  Lordship 
said,  "  I  do  not  reject  the  doctrines  of  Christianity ;  I  want 
only  sufficient  proofs  of  it,  to  take  up  the  profession  in  earnest ; 
and  I  do  not  believe  myself  to  be  so  bad  a  Christian  as  many 
of  them  who  preach  against  me  with  the  greatest  fury — many 
of  whom  I  have  never  seen  nor  injured." 

"You  have  only  to  examine  the  causes  which  prevent  you," 
(from  being  a  true  believer,)  said  the  Doctor,  "  and  you  will 
find  they  are  futile,  and  only  tend  to  withhold  you  from  the 
enjoyment  of  real  happiness  ;  which  at  present  it  is  impossible 
you  can  find. 

*•  What,  then,  you  think  me  in  a  very  bad  way  ?" 

"  i  eeitaialy  tliink  yt»a are,"  was  the  reply  ;  "and  this  i  say, 
not  on  my  own  authority,  but  on  that  of  the  Scriptures. — Your 
Lordship  must  be  converted,  and  must  be  reformed,  before  any 
thing  can  be  said  of  you,  except  that  you  are  bad^  and  in  a  bad 
way." 

*♦  But,"  replied  his  Lordship,  "  I  already  believe  in  predesti* 


yr  of  Heaven ;  and 
grateful  to  God  for 
is,  some  discussion 
!  third  chapter  of 
not  enter  into  the 
to  an  explanatory 
ration,  &c. ;  and 
leen  the  subject  of 

red,  if  the  Doctor 
■e  God,  as  is  men- 
!gorical  or  poetical 
ieve  it  in  the  strict 

i  his  Lordship,  "  it 
power,  and  wisdom 
are  at  his  nod,  and 
e  as  the  olements 
is  v/ill  has  assign* 

e  poetical  feelingf 
tempted  to  explain 
nore  distinctly  de- 
!iow  much  the  be- 
ear  and  obey  the 
the  grandeur  and 

ory  than  the  first ; 
mtil  his  Lordship 
ristianity;  I  want 
fession  in  earnest ; 
Christian  as  many 
latest  fury — many 

lich  prevent  you," 
3r,  "  and  you  will 
old  you  from  the 
int  it  is  impossible 

way  ?" 

;  "  uiid  this  I  tiay, 
Scriptures. — Your 
formed,  before  any 

badf  and  in  a  bad 

)elieve  in  predesti* 


LOBD  BTBON. 


203 


nation,  which  I  know  you  believe ;  and  in  the  depravity  of  the 
human  heart  in  general,  and  of  my  own  in  particular ;  thus 
you  see  there  are  two  points  in  which  we  agree.  I  shall  get 
at  the  others  by-and-by.  You  cannot  expect  me  to  become  a 
perfect  Christian  at  once." 

And  further,  his  Lordship  subjoined : 

"  Predestination  appears  to  me  just ;  from  my  own  reflec- 
tion and  experience,  I  am  influenced  in  a  way  which  is  in- 
comprehensible, and  am  led  to  do  things  which  I  never  in^ 
tended ;  and  if  there  is,  as  we  all  admit,  a  Supreme  Ruler  of 
the  universe ;  and  if,  as  you  say,  he  has  the  actions  of  the 
devils,  as  well  as  of  his  own  angels,  completely  at  his  conu 
raand,  then  those  influences,  or  those  arrangements  of  cir- 
cumstances, which  lead  us  to  do  things  against  our  will,,  or 
with  ill-will,  must  be  also  under  his  directions.  But  I  have 
never  entered  into  the  depths  of  the  subject ;  I  have  contented 
myself  with  believing  that  there  is  a  predestination  of  events^, 
and  that  predestination  depends  on  the  will  of  God." 

Dr.  Kennedy,  in  speaking  of  this  second  conversation,  bears' 
testimony  to  the  respectfulness  of  his  Lordship's  attention^ 
"There  was  nothing  in  his  manner  which  approached  to- 
levity,  or  any  thing  that  indicated  a  wish  to  mock  at  religion.;: 
though,  on  the  other  hand,  an  able  dissembler  would  have- 
done  and  said  all  that  he  did,  with  such  feelings  and  in- 
tentions. 

Subsequent  to  the  second  conversation,  Dr.  Ker  ^edy  asked* 

gentleman  who  was  intimate  with  Lord  Byron,  xi  he  really 
nought  his  Lordship  serious  in  his  desire  to  hear  religion  ex- 
lained.  "  Has  he  exhibited  any  contempt  or  ridicule  at  what 
[  have  said  ?"  This  gentleman  assured  him  that  he  had  never 
heard  Byron  allude  to  the  subject  in  any  way  which  could  in- 
duce him  to  suspect  that  he  was  merely  amusing  himnel{l 
"  But,  on  the  contrary,  he  always  names  you  with  respect  t 
do  not,  however,  think  you  have  made  much  impression  on' 
him ;  he  is  just  the  same  fellow  as  before.  He  says,  he  dbe» 
not  know  what  religion  you  are  of,  for  you  neither  adheve  to« 
creeds  or  councils." 

It  ought  here  to  be  noticed,  as  showing  the  general  opinion 
entertained  of  his  Lordship  with  respect  to  these  poIemicaT 
conversations,  that  the  wits  of  the  garrison  made  themselves 
merry  with  what  wa.-  going  on.  Some  of  them  affected  tio- 
faeiieve,  or  did  so,  thai  Lord  Byron's  wish  to  hear  Dr.  Kennedy, 
proceeded  from  a  desire  to  have  an  accurate  idea  of  the  c^nions 
and  manners  of  the  Methodists,  in  order  that  he  might  make 
Don  Juf  n  become  one  for  a  time,  and  so  be  enabled  to  paint 
their  conduct  with  greater  accuracy. 


204 


THE  LIFE  OF 


'* 


,^'^■SS  : 


U>^ 


The  third  conversation  took  place  soon  after  this  comment 
had  been  made  on  Lord  Byron's  conduct.  The  Doctor  inquired 
It  his  Lordship  had  read  any  of  the  rcli^rious  books  he  had  sent 
1  have  looked,"  replied  Byron,  "into  Boston's  P^ourfold  State 
but  I  have  not  had  time  to  read  it  far:  I  am  afraid  it  is  toj 
deep  for  me." 

Altlwugh  there  was  no  systematic  design,  on  tlio  part  of 
T"  •^-  ^,"'"'  *"  '?''■.'"'  ^'-  Kennedy  subservient  to  any  schemo 
0^  ridicule,  yet,  it  is  evident  that  he  was  not  so  serious  as  the 
JJoctor  so  meritoriously  desired. 

*'  I  have  begun,"  said  his  Lordship,  "  very  fairly ;  I  have 
given  some  of  your  tracts  to  Fletcher  (his  valet)  who  is  a  ffood 
sort  of  man,  but  still  wants,  like  myself,  some  reformation  ;and 
1  hope  he  will  spread  them  among  the  other  servants,  who  re. 
quire  it  still  more.  Bruno,  the  physician,  and  Gamba,  are 
busy,  reading  some  of  the  Italian  tracts ;  and  I  hope  it  will 
have  a  good  effect  on  them.  The  former  is  rather  too  decided 
against  it  at  present;  and  too  much  engaged  with  a  spirit  of 
enthusiasm  for  his  own  profession,  to  attend  to  other  subjects: 
but  we  must  have  patience,  and  we  shall  see  what  has  been  the 
result.  I  do  not  fail  to  read,  from  time  to  time,  my  Bible 
though  not,  perhaps,  so  much  as  I  should." 

"  Have  you  begun  to  pray  that  you  may  understand  it  ?" 
JNot  yet.     I  have  not  arrived  at  that  pitch  of  faith  yet :  but 
It  may  come  by.and-by.     You  are  in  too  great  a  hurry  " 

His  Lordship  then  went  to  a  side-table,  on  which  a  great 
iZ  U  f  books  were  ranged;  and,  taking  hold  of  an  octavo, 
gave  It  to  the  Doctor.  It  was.  "Illustrations  of  the  Mora 
Government  of  God  ;"  by  E.  Smith,  M.  D..  London.  "  The  au. 
thor,  said  he,  "  proves  that  the  punishment  of  heU  is  not  eter- 
nal ,  It  will  have  a  termination." 

"The  author,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  is,  I  suppose,  one  of  the 
bocinians;  who,  in  a  short  time,  will  try  to  get  rid  of  everv 
doch-ine  m  the  Bible.    How  did  your  Lordship  get  hold  of  this 

"They  sent  it  out  to  me  from  England,  to  make  a  convert  of 

BihI.  itSr^'''-^  ^^^^^^^"•"^'^ts  are  strong,  drawn  from  the 

Bible  Use  f;  and,  by  showing  that  a  time  will  come,  when  every 

ntelligent  creature  shall  be  supremely  happy,  and  eternally  so, 

It  expunges  that  shocking  doctrine,  that  sin  and  misery  will 

or  ever  exist  under  the  government  of  God,  whose  highest  at. 

trinntn  la  Invo  ar%A  ^^ — i m     _.  .  "     . 

.»«»Yj"  r  " T\  «'r'^"-'"^==-     -^o  "ly  present  apprehension,  it 

Tf^  V  11^  "™°f  ff  \rable  thing,  could  it  be  proved  that,  alter- 
n^tely,  all  created  beings  were  to  be  happy.  This  would  ap- 
pear  to  be  most  consistent  with  the  nature  of  God—I  cannot 
yield  to  your  doctrine  of  the  eternal  duration  of  punishment.- 


LORD  BYRON. 


205 


after  this  comment 
The  Doctor  inquired 
3  books  he  had  sent, 
ton's  Fourfold  State, 
am  ai'raid  it  is  too 

^n,  on  tho  part  of 
-ient  to  any  schemo 
ot  so  ssrious  as  the 

'ery  fairly;  I  have 
'alet)  who  is  a  good 
10  reformation ;  and 
!r  servants,  who  re- 
I,  and  Gamba,  are 
and  I  hope  it  will 
!  rather  too  decided 
red  with  a  spirit  of 
i  to  other  subjects ; 
what  has  been  the 
to  time,  my  Bible, 

understand  it  ?" 
3h  of  faith  yet;  but 
eat  a  hurry." 
on  which  a  great 

hold  of  an  octavo, 
;ions  of  the  Moral 
iondon.     "  The  au- 

of  hell  is  not  eter- 

suppose,  one  of  the 
0  get  rid  of  every 
lip  get  hold  of  this 


make  a  convert  of 

f,  drawn  from  the 

come,  when  every 

Y,  and  eternally  so, 

ti  and  misery  will 

whose  highest  at- 

it  apprehension,  it 

proved  that,  alter- 

This  would  ap- 

of  God. — I  cannot 

I  of  punishment. — 


This  author's  opinion  is  more  humane ;  and,  I  think,  he  sup- 
ports it  very  strongly  from  Scripture." 

The  fourth  conversation  was  still  more  desultory,  being  car- 
ried  on  at  table  amidst  company ;  in  the  course  of  it  Lord  Byron, 
however,  declared  "  that  he  was  so  much  of  a  believer  as  to  be 
of  opinion  that  there  ia  no  contradiction  in  the  Scriptures, 
which  cannot  be  reconciled  by  an  attentive  consideration  and 
comparisrn  of  passages." 

It  is  needless  to  remark  that  Lord  Byron,  in  the  course  of 
these  conversations,  was  incapable  of  preserving  a  consistent 
seriousness.  The  volatility  of  his  humour  was  constantly  lead- 
ing  him  into  playfulness,  and  he  never  lost  an  opportunity  of 
making  a  pun  or  saying  a  quaint  thing.  "  Do  you  know,"  said 
he  to  the  Doctor,  "  I  am  nearly  reconciled  to  St.  Paul ;  for  he 
says  there  is  no  difference  between  the  Jews  and  the  Greeks ; 
and  I  am  exactly  of  the  same  opinion,  for  the  character  of  botli 
is  equally  vile." 

Upon  the  whole  it  must  be  conceded,  that  whatever  was  the 
degree  of  Lord  Byron's  dubiety  as  to  points  of  faith  and  doc- 
trine, he  could  not  be  accused  of  gross  ignorance,  nor  described 
as  animated  by  any  hostile  feeling  against  religion. 

In  this  sketch  of  these  conversations,  I  have  restricted  my- 
self «^.hieily  to  those  points  which  related  to  his  Lordship's  own 
sentiments  and  beliefl  It  would  have  been  inconsistent  with 
the  concise  limits  of  this  work  to  have  detailed  the  controver- 
sies. A  fair  summary  of  what  Byron  did  not  believe,  what  he 
was  disposed  to  believe,  but  had  not  satisfied  himself  with  the 
evidence,  and  what  he  did  believe,  seemed  to  be  the  task  I 
ought  to  undertake.  The  result  confirmed  the  statement  of  his 
Lordship's  religious  condition,  given  in  the  preliminary  re- 
marks ;  which,  I  ought  to  mention,  were  written  before  I  look- 
ed into  Dr.  Kennedy's  book ;  and  the  statement  is  not  different 
fVom  the  estimate  which  the  conversations  warrant.  It  is  true 
that  Lord  Byron's  part  in  the  conversations  is  not  very  charac- 
teristic ;  but  the  integrity  of  Dr.  Kennedy  is  a  suj£cient  assur- 
ance that  they  are  substantially  correct.* 

*  Connected  with  this  subject  there  is  a  letter  in  the  Appendix,  from 
Fletcher  to  the  Doctor,  concerning  his  master's  religious  opinions,  well 
worthy  of  preservation  on  its  own  account,  as  affording  a  tolerably  fair 
specimen  of  what  persons  in  his  condition  of  life  think  of  religion.  I  fear 
poor  Dr.  Kennedy  must  have  thought  of  the  proverb  *'  like  master  lik« 
iuaa." 

s        .  . 


206 


ft 


TIIE  LIFE  OF 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


Voyage  to  Ce^alonia.— Letter.— Count  Gamba's  addre«s.— Grateftjl  fiwl 
ing8  of  the  ^urks-Endeavouri.  of  Lord  Byron  to  mitigate  the  hoiSr; 

OI  luc  War* 

iooo°1u  B^J^o^.afJ^r  leaving  Argostoli,  on  the  29th  December, 
ib2d,  the  port  of  Cephalonia,  sailed  for  Zante,  where  he  took  on 
board  a  quantity  of  specie.  Although  the  distance  from  Zante 
to  Missolonghi  IS  but  a  few  hours'  sail,  the  voyage  was  vet 
not  without  adventures.  Missolonghi,  as  I  have  already  men. 
tioned,  was  then  blockaded  by  the  Turks,  and  some  addresi 
was  necessar, ,  on  that  account,  to  effect  an  entrance,  indepcn. 
dent  of  the  difficulties,  at  all  times,  of  navigating  the  canali 
which  intersect  the  shallows.  In  the  following  letter  to  Colonel 
btanhope,  his  Lordship  gives  an  account  of  what  took  place.  It 
18  very  characteristic,  I  shall  therefore  quote  it. 

''Scrofer,  or  some  such  name,  on  hoard  a  Cephaloniait 
..  ^    _       „      ,  Mistice,  Dec.  31, 1823. 

"  My  Dear  Stanhope, 

"We  are  just  arrived  here— that  is,  part  of  my  people  imd  I, 
with  some  things,  &c.,  and  which  it  may  be  as  well  not  to 
specify  m  a  letter,  (which  has  a  risk  of  being  intercepted,  per. 
flaps ;)  but  Gamba  and  my  horses,  negro,  steward,  and  the 
press,  and  all  the  committee  things,  also  some  eight  thousand 
dollars  of  mine  (but  never  mind,  we  have  more  lefl— do  vou 
understand?)  are  taken  by  the  Turkish  frigates ;  and  my  party 
and  myself,  in  another  boat,  have  had  a  narrow  escape  last 
mght  (being  close  under  their  stern,  and  hailed,  but  we  would 
not  answer,  and  bore  away)  as  well  as  this  morninff.  Here 
we  are,  with  sun  and  charming  weather,  within  a  pretty  little 
port  enough ;  but  whether  our  Turkish  friend  may  not  send  in 
their  boats,  and  take  us  out  (for  we  have  no  arms,  except  two 
carabmes  and  some  pistols,  and,  I  suspect,  not  more  than  four 
lighting  people  on  board,)  is  another  question ;  especially  if  we 
remain  long  here,  since  we  are  blocked  out  of  Missolonghi  by 
rir  ^"^''^/''^l^^^'  Jou  had  better  send  my  friend  (feorgS 
Wrake,  and  a  body  of  Suliotes,  to  escort  us  by  land  or  by  the 

«~S      -  f»  convenient  speed.    Gamba  and  our  Bombard 

are  taken  intn  Patraa  t  oimr^^..- j .      ... 

«ko  T.,.^'  T"  I~.T"'  "  ""fP^^*  aii"  wts  must  laKe  a  lurnai 

i^L VVL  r^  ^f  f^®™  °"*-  ^"*  ^^^'^^  the  devil  is  the  fleet 
Sii^.*;  *h  ^  "l^an-leaving  us  to  get  in  without  the  least 
intimation  to  take  heed  that  the  Mosfems  were  out  again. 


B  address.— GrateAil  feel. 
a  to  mitigate  the  borrori 


1  the  29th  December, 
nte,  where  he  took  on 
!  distance  from  Zanto 
the  voyage  was  yet 
I  have  already  men. 
s,  and  some  addresi 
m  entrance,  indepen. 
avigating  the  canals 
ving  letter  to  Colonel 
f  what  took  place.  It 
}te  it. 

hoard  a  Cephaloniati 
,  Dec.  31, 182i3. 

t  of  my  people  and  I, 
J  be  as  well  not  to 
mg  intercepted,  per- 
o,  steward,  and  the 
some  eight  thousand 
J  more  left — do  you 
g:ates ;  and  my  party 

narrow  escape  lost 
lailed,  but  we  would 
his  morning.  Here 
within  a  pretty  little 
nd  may  not  send  in 
no  arms,  except  two 
I  not  more  than  four 
on;  especially  if  we 
t  of  Missolonghi  by 
i  my  friend  George 
»  by  land  or  by  the 
L  and  our  Bombard 
iiust  take  a  torn  ai 
le  devil  is  the  fleet 

in  without  tbo  least 
IS  were  out  again* 


LOKD  BTR0I7. 


207 


Make  my  reipects  to  Mavrocordato,  and  say  that  I  am  here  at 
Ml  disposal.    I  am  uneasy  at  being  here.     We  are  very  well. 

"  Yours,  &c.  N.  B. 

"  P.  S.  The  Bombard  was  twelve  miles  out  when  taken ;  at 
least  80  it  appeared  to  us,  (if  taken  she  actually  be,  for  it  is  not 
certain)  and  we  had  to  escape  from  another  vessel  thai  stood 
right  in  between  us  and  the  port." 

Colonel  Stanhope  on  receiving  this  despatch,  whit:h  was  car- 
ried to  him  by  two  of  Lord  Byron's  servants,  sent  two  armed 
boats,  and  a  company  of  Suliotes,  to  escort  his  Lordship  to 
Missolonghi,  where  he  arrived  on  the  5th  of  January,  and  was 
received  with  military  honours,  and  the  most  enthusiastic  de- 
monstrations  of  popular  joy.  No  mark  of  respect  which  the 
Greeks  could  think  of  was  omitted.  The  ships  fired  a  salute  as 
he  passed.  Prince  Mavrocordato,  and  all  the  authorities,  with 
the  troops  and  the  population,  met  him  on  his  landing,  and  ac- 
companied  him  to  the  house  which  had  been  prepared  for  him, 
unidst  the  shouts  of  the  multitude  and  the  discharge  of  cannon. 

In  the  mean  time  Count  Gamba  and  his  companions  being 
taken  before  YusufF  Pashaw  at  Patras,  expected  to  share  the 
fate  of  certain  unfortunate  prisoners  whem  that  stern  chief 
had  sacrificed  the  preceding  year  at  Prevesa ;  and  their  fears 
would  probably  have  been  realized  but  for  the  intrepid  presence 
of  mind  displayed  by  the  Count,  who,  assuming  a  haughty 
itvle,  accused  the  Ottoman  captain  of  the  frigate  of  a  breach 
of  neutrality,  in  detaining  a  vessel  under  English  colours,  and 
concluded  by  telling  the  pashaw  that  he  might  expect  the  ven- 
geance of  the  British  government  in  thus  interrupting  a  nobfei 
man  who  was  merely  on  his  travels,  and  bound  to  Cakmata. 
Perhaps,  however,  another  circumstance  had  quite  as  much 
influence  with  the  pashaw  as  this  bravery.  In  the  master  of 
me  vessel  he  recognized  a  person  who  had  saved  his  life  in  the 
Black  Sea  fifteen  years  before,  and  in  consequence  not  only 
consented  to  the  vessePs  release,  but  treated  the  whole  of  the 
paasengejfs  with  the  utmost  attention,  and  even  urged  them  to. 
toke  a  day's  shooting  in  the  neighbourhood.* 

*To  the  honour  of  the  Turks,  grateftil  rocollectiongof  this  kind  are  not 
«re  amonf  them :  I  experienced  a  "remarkable  example  of  it  myself 
Having  entered  Widin  when  it  was  besieged  by  the  Russians,  in  the 
*!5tei  of  1810—11,1  Was  cioseiy  qiiestv^aod  aa  toihemoliveMurmy  visit 
Dy  Hassan  Pashaw,  the  suctepspr  of  the.  celeiH-ated  Paswan  Oglon,  then 
«oTernor  of  the  fortress.  J  explained  tchjrn,  fl-ankly,  the  motives  of  my 
visit,  but  he  required  tbaHs^uld  deliver  my  letters  and  p«pn--  to  be  ex- 
•imned.  This  I  refused  to  do,  unless  he  had  a  person  whc  M  read 
bnglish,  and  understand  it  when  spoken.  Ifl,th<?  mean  lime  ...^  Tartar 
UK  better  to  prove  our  innoceixpe  of  all  sin^r  purposes,  turned  Q14  iha 


208 


THE  LIFE    OF 


The  first  measures  which  his  Lordship  Attempted  after  his  ar- 
rival, was  to  mitigate  the  ferocity  with  which  the  war  was  carried 
on  ;  one  of  the  objects,  as  he  explained  to  my  friend  who  visited 
him  at  Genoa,  which  induced  him  to  embark  in  the  cause. 
And  it  happened  that  the  very  day  he  reached  the  town,  was 
signalized  by  his  rescuing  a  Tur^  who  had   fallen  into  the 
hands  of  some  Greek  sailors.     This  man  was  clothed  by  his 
Lordship's  orders,  and  sent  over  to  Patras ;  and  soon  after 
Count  Gamba's  release,  hearing  that  four  other  Turks  were 
prisoners  in  Missolonghi,  he  requested  that  they  might  be 
placed  in  his  hands,  which  was  immediately  granted.     'I'heso 
he  also  sent  to  Patran,  witli  the  letter,  of  which  a  copy  is  in  the 
Appendix,  addressed  to  YusufF,  expressing  his  hope  that  the 
prisoners  thencetbrward  taken  on  both  sides  would  be  treated 
with  humanity.     This  act  was  followed  by  another  equally 
praiseworthy.     A  Greek  cruiser  having  captured  a  Turkish 
boat,  in  which  there    was  a   number  of  passengers,  chiefly 
women  and  children,  tliey  were  also  jilaced  at  the  disposal  of 
his  Lordship,  at  his    particular  request.    Captain  Parry  has 
given  a  description  of  the  scene  between  Lord  Byron,  and  that 
multitude  of  mothers  and  children,  too  interesting  to  be  omit- 
ted  here.     "  I  was  summoned  to  attend  him,  and  receive  his 
orders  that  every  thing  should  be  dons  which  might  contribute 
to  their  comfort.     He  was  seated  on  a  cushion  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  room,  the  women  and  children  were  standing  before  him 

contents  of  his  saddle-bacs,  and  behold,  amon'  "veral  letters  and  parcels 
was  a  packet  for  Prince  Italinski.  from  the  1  ,ich  minister  at  Constan- 
tmople.  This  I  of  course  instantly  jnlered  to  be  delivered  to  the  pashaw. 
In  the  evening,  an  old  Turk  who  ^Jd  been  present  during  the  procerdings, 
and  at  the  subsequent  consultat*  ms  as  to  what  should  be  done  with  me, 
called,  and  advised  me  to  leave  Jie  town  ;  telline;  me  at  tiie  same  time, 
that  when  he  was  a  bo)'  he  hi)  J  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Hungarians 
at  Belgrade,  and  had  been  so  kindly  treated,  that  after  being  sent  home 
he  had  never  ceased  to  long  for  an  opportunity  of  repaying  that  kindness 
to  some  other  Frank,  and  that  he  thought  my  case  affortlcd  an  opportunity. 
He  concluded  by  oflering  me  the  use  of  twenty  thousand  piastres,  about  a 
thousand  pounds  sterling,  to  take  me  across  the  continent  to  England,  I 
was  then  on  my  way  to  Orsova,  to  meet  a  gentleman  from  Vienna;  bur 
bemg  informed  that  lie  would  not  be  there,  I  resolved  to  return  to  Con- 
stantinople, and  accordingly  accepted  from  the  Turk  so  much  money  as 
would  serve  for  the  expenses  of  the  journey,  giving  him  an  order  for  re- 
payment on  an  agent  whose  nanie  he  had  never  heard  of,  nor  any  one 
probably  in  the  town  The  whole  adventure  was  curious,  and  ought  to 
be  mentioned,  as  affording  a  favo.irable  view  of  Ottoman  magnanimity. 
J  he  pashavv  was  so  well  pleased  with  the  manner  in  which  I  had  acted 
m  the  affair  of  the  despatches,  that  he  spnt  n\p  notice  in  the  mornins  that 
horses  and  a  guard  we're  at  my  command  so  long  as  I  cht)se  to  remain  in 
the  fortress,  and  that  he  had  forwarded  the  packet  unbroken  to  the  Rus- 
sian commander ;  he  even  permitted  me,  in  the  course  of  th:^  afternoon,  to 
visit  the  Russian  encampment  on  the  other  side  the  Danubt',  which  I  ac 
«ordingly  did,  and  returned  across  the  river  in  the  evening. 


LORD  BYnoN. 


20g^ 


with  their  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  him;  ancf,  dn  his  right  hand 

thirtv  vP„?[n?       «"^«""&.«-     On«  of  them,  apparently  about 

nersL^d  XLf^f '  T'T'"^  ^''f'*  ""'^^^'^y'  ''"^  whose  man- 
ners  and  dress,  though  she  was  then  dirty  and  disfijrurod  in 

tmn'ani'n''  '^''  ^l^  ^"^"''^^  ^"  ^^"'^  ^^^  condition  o'he; 
good  order  the  others  preserved,  never  interfering  with  the  ex- 
p^anation  or  mterruptmg  the  single  speaker.  I  also  admired 
the  rapid  manner  m  which  the  interpreter  explaimd  every 
hmg  they  said,  so  as  to  make  it  almost  appear  that  there  was 
but  one  speaker  After  a  short  time  it  was  evident  that  wTaJ 
dl.fe7ol  ^«"'"^/«"««ted  his  feelings  ;  his  counteimne^ 
to  wp^«n^  P  rr'i  ^'"*  ^"d  came,  and  I  thought  he  was  ready 
k^ru  t  t  •  '  ''^^'  °"  '"  oc'^asions,  a  ready  a:.d  peculiar 
knack  in  turning  conversation  from  any  disagreeable  or  un 
pheasant  subject ;  and  he  had  recourse  to  this  ^expedtnt  He" 
rose  up  suddenly,  and,  turning  round  on  his  heel  as  was  his 

rT^ated  it IT'^*^'"^  *°  ^'!ii"''^P'«*^^'  ^h°  inimediatel^ 
on^i .     V    the  women.    .Ml  eyes  were  immediately  fixed 

l^e  Ip?v  r' 'f  *'^P%"  y*^""^  '^"'^  beautiful  w^oman, 
Z:JZ  ^^;"^^y.  Lord  Byron  -eemed  satisfied,  and  said 
O^B^  might  retire.    The  women  all  slipped  off  their  shoes  in 

a^cor^nnnln"!'  ^T^  "P.*^,i"'  '^^-'^'^'^^  '^'^  ^^  succession, 
accompanied   by  their   children,  kissed   his   hand   fervently 

ndl!  '/"  *^e  Turkish  manner,  a  blessing,  both  on  hL  hand 
and  heart,  and  then  quitted  the  room.    This  was  too  much  for 

emotion.""*"'  *"^"^'*  ^"'  ^^''^  ^'^^y  ^  '^^'^^^^^  *»>» 

A  vessel  was  then  hired,  and  the  whole  of  them,  to  the  num- 
iJnnUJf  T  {:  °"'''  "^T  'T^.^""  ^''^^''^'  P^^^'ded  with  every 
TfCnnfr  *^' •';  T^"'*  ^""'V"^  *^"  P^^^^ff^-  These  instances 
InT  ?  ^  excited  a  syn^pathy  among  the  Turks.    The  Go- 

Kn  ?J  ♦1^''^'''  ^^^^^""^  ^''  Lordship,  and  assured  him  that 
1m  ?  S  ^^}'  ?'®  f^^*  ^^"*^  attention  should  be  in  future 
paid  tc  the  Greeks  who  might  fall  into  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

''Si''^n'!V^"'''*^*'""''.'-:;^?"""''  ^"""'''  brijrade.-Their  Insubordl- 
forr-i^d'lSercorSre^c?     «^-»'°P«-^' "^-"^y  of  the  plan. 

Thu  arrival  of  Lord  Byron  at  Missolonghi,  was  not  only 
flailed  as  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  Greece,  but  as  the  begin. 


sio 


THE  LIFE  OP 


F  i   '>. 


:m 


*f'*? »' 


■  ^;-|fe- 


iniif  of  a  new  cycle  in  Iiis  own  (  Jraordinnry  life.  His  natural 
iHdol.mjco  disappeared  ;  the  Sardanapalian  sloth  was  thrown  off 
and  he  took  a  station  in  the  van  of  her  efforts  that  bespoke  he' 
roic  achievement. 

After  paying  the  fleet,  which  indeed  had  only  come  out  in 
the  expectation  of  recf  iving  the  arrears  of  the  loan  he  had  pro- 
rnised  to  Mavrocordato,  he  resolved  to  form  a  Brigade  of  Su. 
Iiotes.  live  hundred  of  the  remains  of  Marco  Bolzari's  gallant 
fol  owers  were  accordingly  taken  into  his  pay.  »  He  burns 
with  miHary  ardour  and  chivalry,"  says  Colonel  Stanhope, 
and  will  proceed  witli  the  expedition  to  Lepanto."    But  the 

foreseen""  "^^^  ^^^""^""^  ^^  '"''^^^  '^^'''^  °"^''*  *°  ^''^^  ^*^^" 
The  Suliotes,  conceiving  that  in  his  Lordship  they  had  found 
a  patron,  whose  wealth  and  generosity  were  equally  boundless, 
refused  to  quit  Missolonghi  till  their  arrears  were  paid.  Savaee 
in  the  field,  and  untameable  in  the  city,  they  became  insubor- 
dinate and  mercenary  ;  nor  was  their  conduct  without  excuse. 
Ihey  had  long  defended  the  town  rith  untired  bravery;  their 
families  had  been  driven  into  it  ia  [,,e  most  destitute  condition; 
and  all  the  hopes  that  had  led  them  to  take  up  arms,  were  stil 
distant,  and  prospective.     Besides,  Mavrocordato,  unlike  the 
other  Grecian  captains  having  no  troops  of  his  own,  affected  to 
regard  these  mercenaries  as  allies,  and  was  indulgent  to  their 
excesses.     The  town  was  overawed  by  their  turbulence  :  con. 
flicts  took  place  in  the  street ;  riot  and  controversy  every  where 
prevailed,  and  blood  was  shed.  ^ 

Lord  Byron's  undiscij  lined  spirit  could  ill  brook  delay;  ho 
Turtookof  the  general  vehemence,  and  lost  the  power  of  dis. 
S"^H  comparative  importance  both  of  measures  and 
things  He  was  out  of  his  element;  confusion  thickened  .  ,  iva 
him  ;  his  irritability  grew  passion  ;  rr,d  there  was  the  rush  .-■ 
s^  ested  °       °"         ^^^™  of  fatality  in  all  he  under  ..oli  -xad 

One  day,  a  party  of  German  adventurers  reached  the  fortress 
so  demoralized  by  hardships  that  few  of  them  were  fit  for  ser- 

^  JT  l^^^A^  ^u  ^°'/"  ^  *^°'P'  °^  ^^tillery,  and  these 
mtn  ..ro  destined  for  that  branch  of  the  servive ;  but  their 
con.lii;.  •".,.•  ,uch,  that  Stanhope  doubted  the  practicability  of 
mTI'^'v  "'''«*''^:'^i"to«^fl'ectatthattime.  He  had  promised 
;°  K^f  i'^'  i'  ;'''f^^  P''""^'  ^  ^^^"  equipment.  Byron  at- 
«n^'"il>-^.'"    "^'^     ^^"i""  ■   ''"^  **^  leluctance  to  pay  the  money; 

Tn  Gr^  'i„n      '  ^?'  v^  7?^'  .^^^"^'^'^'  ^^'h  ^  punishment  new 
m  Grecian  war-to  libri  him  in  the  Greek  Chronicle!  a  news- 
paper which  Stanhope  had  recently  established. 
'   It  18,  however,  not  etsy  to  give  a  correct  view  of  the  state  of 


LORD    BYflON. 


311 


lary  life.  His  natural 
sloth  was  thrown  otf, 
brts  that  bespoke  he* 

ad  only  come  out  in 
the  loan  he  had  pro- 
rm  a  Brigade  of  Su. 
rco  Botzari's  gallant 
8  pay.  "He  burns 
J  Colonel  Stanhope, 
Lepanto."  But  the 
ought  to  have  been 

Iship  they  had  found 
e  equally  boundlesL, 
s  were  paid.  Savage 
ley  became  insubor- 
uct  without  excuse, 
ired  bravery;  their 

destitute  condition; 

up  arms,  were  still 
cjordato,  unlike  the 
his  own,  affected  to 

I  indulgent  to  their 
r  turbulence :  con- 
oversy  every  vyhere 

II  brook  delay ;  he 
t  the  power  of  dis- 

of  measures  and 
1  thickened  ^  .w.'u 
3  was  the  rush  .■; , 
!1  he  under  .oik  lati 

sached  the  fortress 
ni  were  fit  for  ser- 
rtillery,  and  these 
servive ;  but  their 
e  practicability  of 

He  had  promised 
>ment.  Byron  at- 
to  pay  the  money; 

punishment  new 
hronicle !  a  news- 
;d. 
3W  of  the  state  of 


mean..     They  ulked  of ..  ,wsp,por,,  and  lj.pc>,.  and  UM.,  m 
f'«m',  J^".'"«  "' " •""■"■  pi""  "f ln..ne  „o,k  wa, mad,  ,b„„, ,,« 

rjr.t-r'LiH5ir  rT-'-''- 
23d  December.  1823     vHA"'  **"*'"  '°  ^^^  "'«  cauae."- 

v>Jof  S!if„;*?K"^?  'ort^!Vr::yr''^'^  p-^-^-  '•^  •*•«  pur. 

1624.  Page  74  ^  ^''^  mneteenlli  century.'-7th  January, 

not^a^ccpositor  to  arrange  ouA^lZt^^^^u'lS^  & 
Page  '.oT  "°  ""'  '°  ^"^'^  '^°  lithographic  press."-7th  February.  1824. 
ru'ary?K'"Cm  '''  '""'^  ''^'^"^^  '••^"""  »« t^e  Morea."-lith  Feb. 

apainst  the  Turks  ;  butX  fKv  "    extra?tT'l?  •"  '7''*^  °<"  «'" 

'"■  youM^  "I'j-'  •"  noticing  th:\\"f„jrco^\^rpurr''"'''^  "''P"- 

Wav^Zr  r:K^t^^re^yr7;;"h^n;r="'  ^'-"'-  '^-' '-^  to  Pri„ce 
press  undera  cen«or;'  aTd^h  t  "orenltr^iJ'-^^  ^'"""i  "'^^^d  the 

guarantee'  by  the  ^.  "ifi  S  •    Zu    Vi^^V''' V'''''''^' "'^"'^  P^essis 

only  said  ,.  lo  provoke  me  If  vo.?r .  Lh  k-  "''^^''nt'on,  or  whether  you 
it  my  duty  to  comm  nicate  t  Hs  £ir  .. wIP.  p"'  ''"""''  *  ^'li'"  '=""«"'«' 
order  to  show  them  hovv  difficult  atiLi  .       ^°").'"'.ttP«  'n  England,  in 

the  state  of  anarchy  wh  ch  at  ."e^-'a  dIp  »ifL  '?  "''fr,''  ^''  P'i'  «"  «"'J  'o 

and  licentiousness^  I  sa' d 'hKe  oh  m  of  a  L^"*n^'"'""  '^'"-'^  '**«"« 

i  January,  18-24     Pn^e  tu   "        '^•^H'Jsu  imciiiars  to  ,„i,um,  &c.  «tc  "-S^th 

I  «p>dition  aiainst  it.  '^  **  Lepanto.  when  Byron  died  in  the 


r 


21S 


THE  LIFE  OP 


^m  :'i         >Jlii 

Hllkiii 

if  the  moral  instruments  of  civil  exhortation  were  adequate  to 
wrench  tho  independence  of  Greece  from  the  bloody  grasp  of 
the  Ottoman.  No  wonder  that  Byron,  accustomed  to  the  man* 
a|;ement  only  of  his  own  fancies,  was  fluttered  amidst  the  con- 
flicts of  such  riot  and  controversy. 

His  situation  at  this  period,  was  indeed  calculated  to  inspire 
pity.  Had  he  survived,  it  might,  instead  of  awakening  the 
derision  of  history,  have  supplied  to  himself  materials  for  ano- 
ther canto  of  Don  Juan.  I  shall  select  one  instance  of  his  afflictions. 

The  captain  of  a  British  gun-brig  came  to  Missolonghi  to 

lemand  an  equivalent  for  an  Ionian  boat,  which  had  been  taken 

11  the  act  of  going  out  of  the  Gulf  of  Lepanto,  vith  provisions 

md  arms.    The  Greek  fleet  at  that  time  blockading  the  port 

consisted  of  five  brigs,  and  the  Turks  had  fourteen  vessels  of 

'^ar  in  the  gulf.    The  captain  maintained  that  the  British  go- 

*  vrnment  recognized  no  blockade  which  was  not  efficient,  and 

«^^t  the  efficiency  depended  on  the  numerical  superiority  of 

MiitDon.    On  this  principle  he  demanded  restitution  of  the 

projMtTty.      Mavrocordato  oflfered  to  submit  the  case  to  the 

4eci(L(n  of  the  British  government;  but  the  captain  would 

only  R'^e  him  four  hours  to  consider.    The  indemnification 

was  grs  utod. 

Lord  i«yxon  conducted  the  business  in  behalf  of  the  captain. 
In  the  evening,  conversing  with  Stanhope  on  the  subject,  the 
colonel  rai  J  the  aflfair  was  conducted  in  a  bullying  manner. 
His  Lord^hS*  started  into  a  passion,  and  contended,  that  law, 
justice,  and  » -^uity  had  nothing  to  do  with  politics. 

•'  That  may  be,"  replied  Stanhope,  "  but  I  will  never  lend 
myself  to  inja..iv\ce." 

His  Lordship  then  began  to  attack  Jeremy  Bentham.  The 
colonel  complained  of  such  illiberality,  as  to  make  personal  at- 
tacks on  that  gentleman  before  a  friend  who  held  him  in  high 
estimation. 

*'  I  only  attack  his  public  principles,"  replied  Byron,  "which 
are  mere  theories,  but  dangerous, — injurious  to  Spain,  and  cal- 
culated to  do  great  mischief  in  Greece." 

Stanhope  vindicated  Bentham,  and  aaid,  "  He  possesses  a 
truly  Britidi  heart ;  but  your  Lordship,  after  professing  liberal 
principles  from  boyhood,  has,  when  called  upon  to  act,  proved 
yourself  a  Turk." 

"  What  proofs  have  you  of  this  ?" 

'I  Your  conduct  in  endeavouring  to  crush  the  press  by  de- 
claiming against  it  to  Mavrocordato,  aud  your  general  abuse  of 
liberal  principles." 

"If  I  had  held  up  my  finger,"  ratorted  his  Lordship,  "I 
^sonld  have  crushed  the  press." 


on  were  adequate  to 
the  bloody  grasp  of 
istomed  to  the  man- 
Bred  amidst  the  con- 
calculated  to  inspire 
I  of  awakening  the 
If  materials  for  ano- 
ince  of  his  afflictions. 
i  to  Missolonghi  to 
hich  had  been  taken 
,nto,  vith  provisions 
blockading  the  port 

fourteen  vessels  of 
that  the  British  go- 
as  not  efficient,  and 
rical  superiority  of 
i  restitution  of  the 
nit  the  case  to  the 

the  captain  would 
I'he  indemnification 

Bhalf  of  the  captain. 

!  on  the  subject,  the 

a  bullying  manner. 

contended,  that  law, 

politics. 

ut  I  will  never  lend 

my  Bentham.  The 
to  make  personal  at- 
ho  held  him  in  high 

plied  Byron, "  which 
us  to  Spain,  and  cal- 

d,  "  He  possesses  a 

ter  professing  libersJ 

upon  to  act,  proved 


ish  the  press  by  de- 
our  general  abuse  of 

id  his  Lordship,  "  I 


LORD  BYRON. 


213 


"With  all  this  power,"  said  Stanhope,  "which  by  the  way 
you  never  possessed,  you  went  to  the  prince,  and  poisoned  his 
ear."  *  r 

Lord  Byron  then  disclaimed  against  the  liberals.  "  What 
liberals  ?"  cried  Stanhope.  "  Did  you  borrow  your  notions  of 
freemen  from  tlic  Italians  ?" 
"  No :  from  the  Hunts,  Cartwrights  and  such." 
"And  yet  your  Lordship  presented  Cartwrijrht's  Reform  Bill, 
and  aided  Hunt  by  praising  his  poetry  and  giving  him  the  sale 
of  your  works."  ^         o       s, 

You  are  worse  than  Wilson,"  exclaimed  Byron,  "  and  should 
quit  the  army." 

"  I  am  a  mere  soldier,"  replied  Stanhope,  "but  never  will  I 
abandon  my  principles.  Our  principles  are  diametrically  op. 
posite,  so  let  us  avoid  the  subject.  If  Lord  Byron  acts  up  to 
his  professions,  he  will  bo  the  greatest,  if  not,  the  meanest  of 
mankind." 

"My  character,"  said  his  Lordship,  « I  hope,  docs  not  de- 
pend  on  your  assertions." 

"No:  your  genius  has  immortalized  you.  The  worst  will 
not  deprive  you  of  fame." 

Lord  Byron  then  rejoined,  "Well;  you  shnll  see;  judge  of 
me  by  my  acts."     And,  bidding  the  colonel  good  night,  who 

«ivu"f.  L ''.  i'^'^*  *"  conduct  him  to  the  passage,  he  added. 
"What !  hold  up  a  light  to  a  Turk !"  ^       «  '  ^"*'"' 

Such  were  the  Franklins,  the  Washingtons,  and  the  Hamil. 
tons  who  undertook  the  regeneration  of  Greece. 


CHAPTER  XLVL 

^Snamo"  ''^Z't^f  ^""l^^  command  of  three  thousand  men  to  besiege 
rff™!^  t  '^  T^^r  abandoned  for  a  blockade.-Advanced  guard  ol^ 

SrfpS      a\:L  r^P"''"""  ^S'*'"^^  Lepanto  abandoned—Byron 
aejected.— A  Wild  diplomatic  scheme.  ' 

Three  days  after. the  conversation  related  in  the  preceding 
chapter  Byron  was  officially  placed  in  the  command  of  about 
tiree  thousand  men,  destined  for  the  attack  on  Lepanto ;  but 
the  buliotes  Remained  refractory,  and  refused  to  quit  their 
qtiaiicra;  Ills  i^ordship,  however,  employed  an  argument  which 
proved  effoctual.  He  told  them  that  if  thoy  did  not  obey  his 
commands,  he  would  discharge  them  from  his  service. 

ant  the  impediments  were  not  to  be  surmounted;  in  less 
man  a  week  it  was  formally  reported  to  Byron  that  Misso. 


Mjiyk 


214 


'    SI 


THE  LIFE  or 


longbi  could  not  furnish  the  means  of  undertaking  the  siege 
of  Lopanto,  upon  which  his  Lordship  proposed  that  Lepanto 
flhoulu  be  only  blockaded  by  two  thousand  men.  Before  any 
actual  step  was,  however,  taken,  two  spies  came  in  with  a  re- 
port that  the  Albanians  in  garrison  at  Lepanto  had  seized  the 
citadel,  and  were  determined  to  surrender  it  lo  his  Lordship. 
Still  the  expedition  lingered  j  at  last,  on  the  14th  of  February, 
six  weeks  after  Byron's  arrival  at  Missolonghi,  it  was  deter- 
mined that  an  advanced  guard  of  three  hundred  soldiers,  un- 
dep  the  command  of  Count  Gamba,  should  march  for  Lepanto, 
and  that  Lord  Byron,  with  the  main  body,  should  follow.  The 
Suliotes  were,  however,  still  exorbitant,  calling  for  fresh  con. 
tributlons  for  themselves  and  their  families.  His  troubles 
were  increasing,  and  every  new  rush  of  the  angry  tide  rose 
nearer  and  nearer  his  heart  i  still  his  fortitude  enabled  him  to 
preserve  an  outward  show  of  equanimity.  But,  on  the  very  day 
after  the  determination  had  been  adopted,  to  send  forward  the 
advanced  guard,  his  constitution  gave  way. 

He  was  sitting  in  Colonel  Stanhope's  room,  talking  jestingly, 
according  to  his  wonted  manner,  with  Captain  Parry,  when  his 
eyes  and  forehead  occasionally  discovered  that  he  was  agitated 
by  strong  feelings.  On  a  sudden  he  complained  of  weakness  in 
one  of  his  legs ;  he  rose,  but  finding  himself  unable  to  walk, 
called  for  assistance ;  he  then  fell  into  a  violent  nervous  con. 
vulsion,  and  was  placed  upon  a  bed ;  while  the  fit  lasted,  his 
face  was  hideously  distorted ;  but  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutea 
the  convulsion  ceased,  and  he  began  to  recover  his  senses :  his 
speech  returned,  and  he  soon  rose,  apparently  weU.  During 
the  struggle  his  strength  was  preternaturally  augmented,  and 
when  it  was  over,  he  behaved  with  his  usual  firmness.  "  I  con- 
ceive," says  Colonel  Stanhope,  "that  this  fit  was  occasioned  by 
over.excitement.  The  mind  of  Byron  is  like^  a  volcano ;  it  is 
full  of  fire,  wrath,  and  combustibles;  and  when  this  matter 
comes  to  be  strongly  agitated,  the  explosion  is  dreadful.  With 
respect  to  the  causes  which  produced  this  excess  of  feelings 
they  are  beyond  my  reach,  except  one  great  cause-,  the  pro- 
voking conduct  of  the  Suliotes." 

A  few  days  after  this  distressing  incident,  a  new  occurrence 
arose,  which  materially  disturbed  the  tranquillity  of  Byron.  A 
Suliote,  accompanied  by  the  son,  a  little  boy,  of  Marco  Botzaris, 
with  another  man,  walked  into  the  Seraglio,  a  kind  of  citadel, 
which  had  been  used  as  a  barr-'ck  for  the  Suliotes,  and  out  of 
which  they  had  been  jsjepted  with  difficulty,  when  it  was 
required  for  the  reception  pf  stores  and  the  establishment  of  a 
laboratory.  The  sentinel  ordered  them  back,  but  the  Suliote 
advanced.    The  sergeant  ot  the  guard,  a  German,  pushed  hiin 


LORD  BYROX. 


215 


ndertaking  the  siege 
)posed  that  Lepanto 
d  men.  Before  any 
}  cume  in  with  a  re. 
panto  had  seized  the 
r  it  to  his  Lordship, 
e  14fh  of  February, 
longhi,  it  was  deter- 
undred  soldiers,  un. 
march  for  Lepanto, 
should  follow.  The 
Uing  for  fresh  con- 
iliesr  His  troubles 
the  angry  tide  rose 
tude  enabled  him  to 
Jut,  on  the  very  day 
:o  send  forward  the 

m^  talking  jestingly, 
ain  Parry,  when  his 
hat  he  was  agitated 
ined  of  weakness  in 
lelf  unable  to  walk, 
violent  nervous  con- 
8  the  fit  lasted,  hi» 
rse  of  a  few  minutea 
)ver  his  senses :  his 
ntly  weU.  During 
Ily  augmented,  and 
il  firmness.  "^  I  con- 
:  was  occasioned  by 
[ike-  a  volcano »  it  is 
[  when  this  matter 
1  is  dreadful.  With 
s  excess  of  feeling,. 
:eat  cause,,  the  pro- 

t,  a  new  occurrence 
uillity  of  Byron.  A 
,  of  Marco  Botzaris, 
},  a  kind  of  citadel, 
Suliotes,  and  out  of 
ulty,  when  it  was 
establishment  of  a 
ick,  but  the  Suliote 
ermi^n,  pushed  him 


?rn^*  J  ^  ^^^  'Irowhis  pistol;  the  German  wrenched  It 
trom  him,  and  emptied  the  pan.  At  this  moment  a  Swedish 
adven  urer.  Captain  Sass,  seeing  the  quarrel,  ordered  the  Sultte 
iarfpH  K?  }^  'n  S^^^^'^P^'"-  The  Suliote  would  have  de- 
Lhr!  ^^VV  ,^^.™^"  «ti"  held  him.  The  Swede  drew  hts 
the  St  f  V  ^'°''  ^'f  other  pistol.  The  Swede  struck  him  wilj! 
m  flat  of  his  sword;  the  Suliote  unsheathed  his  ataffhan.  and 

Jr?  '^^'f  •  J^^  ""^^^^  ^^"°^^«  ^°»ld  not  deliver  up 
their  comrade,  for  he  was  celebrated  among  them  for  distin- 
guished  bravery.  The  workmen  in  the  laboratory  refused  to 
TJ^l  a'  *^<1'^""^*^  to  be  sent  home  to  England,  declarinff, 
^ey  had  .-o^ae  out  to  labour  peaceably,  and  not  to  be  exposed 
to  as«aRsinanon.  These  untoward  occurrences  deeply  vexed 
S.?r  1  ^?  •  ^'^  "^^^  ".?  ™'"^  of  sufficient  energy  witfi  him  to 
2^aI  if  fT^''""^  disorders.  But  though  convinced,  as  in. 
iTn^  I  )^t  b*'«^  P^'-^^aded  from  the  beginning  in  his  own 
mind,  that  he  could  not  render  any  assistance  to  L  cause  be! 
dr  i?  "?i^^  ^^'r  °"'  'P'"*  ^"  ^hich  the  war  was  con- 
GreS.  ""  '^"''^^  "°^  """'^  ^'"^  ^  "J"** 

*i"jJ^"rKT.""^"u'°°".''^'''"^'«  first  attack,  he  says,  "lam 
?of  mth^il  Tp'  ^'^""^^  ''^''T'^  ^"^k^y-  The  leeches  took 
Z.Tv^  u^  •^'■°'"  ""?  *^'''P'®«  ^^^  ^''y  after,  and  there  was 
oTtn  L  ?^*^  ""  '?PP^"^  ^*5  ^"t  I  ^^^^  beei  up  daily,  and 
bath  „nH°r  °''  ?"  ^""''^^f^^'  To-day  I  have  taken  a  warm 
hSf  4»?o  live  as  temperately  as  can  well  be,  without  any  liquid 
tthnl.  '  ^"?  )v»thout  any  animal  food :"  then  adverting  to  the 
Mn^  !?  of  he  Suliotes,  he  adds,  "but  I  still  hope^better 
ctSr  ^^".f*^"'^  ^y  ^e  «^'^«8e  as  long  as  my  health  and 
c  rcumstances  will  permit  me  to  be  supposid  usefiil."  Subse. 
quently,  when  pressed  to  leave  the  marshy  and  deleterious  air 
of  Missolonghi  he  replied  still  more  forcibly,  "  I  camiot  quiJ 

ut  r;  therl'^r  "  1  f^"^^  "J^"^  hemglneren  supposed 
Zuh         ?  '!  ^  'J,^t®  ^^'t'*  »"»"'«"«  such  as  I  ai^and 
Tav  thlT  "^^  ""^  ^^i  "^"^*  «*^"^  ^y  the  cause.    While  I 
&ctnc:fihTr^T\f^^^^  ^"*^  dissensions,  and 

t  thl^K  1?  '^'''  themselves;  but  allowance  must  be  iade 
lor  them  by  all  reasonable  people." 

♦„^!:!f."!^?  attack  of  epilepsy  Lord  Byron  became  disinclined 
tlinnr"!:-''"^  5^"^"^^  agamsl  Lepanto.  Indeed  it  may  be  said 
thf^sT  *  circumstances  it  was  impracticable;  for  although 
fw  Jtf  °*f  M'P^'^^.^  °^  *^"^'-  insubordination,  they  yet  bad  !n 
sSn^  w^i^.  ^!?f  ;r'°'  .'"^  ^^'^'  "  they  would  not  fight  ^Ist 
stoai  walls."  All  thought  of  the  expedition  was  in  c Snsi^enc^ 


AW 

If 

1 

1 

■11 

1 

;l   i 

ft 

ji    IM 
luil 

;  M 

I! 


216 


THE  LIFE  OF 


'♦^iS^ 


'■■^■: 


\r 


1*.      ' 


abandoned,  and  the  destines  of  poor  Byron  were  hastening  to 
their  consummation.    He  began  to  complain ! 

In  speaking  to  Parry  one  day  of  the  Greek  Committee  in 
London,  he  said,  "  I  have  been  grossly  ill-treated  by  the  Com- 
mittee.    In  Italy  Mr.  Blaquiere,  their  agent,  informed  me  that 
every  requisite  supply  would  be  forwarded  with  all  despatch.  I 
was  disposed  to  come  to  Greece,  but  I  hastened  my  dopar.ture 
in  consequence  of  earnest  solicitations.  No  time  was  to  be  lost, 
I  was  told,  and  Mr.  Blaquiere,  instead  of  waiting  on  me  at  his 
return  from  Greece,  left  a  paltry  note,  which  gave  me  no  infer, 
mation  whatever.     If  ever  I  meet  with  him,  I  shall  not  fail  to 
mention  my  surprise  at  his  conduct ;  but  it  has  been  all  of  a  j 
piece.    I  wish  the  acting  Committee  had  had  some  of  the 
trouble  which  has  fallen  on  me  since  my  arrival  here :  they 
would  have  been  more  prompt  in  their  proceedings,  and  would 
have  known  better  what  the  country  stood  in  need  of.    They 
would  not  have  delayed  the  supplies  a  day,  nor  have  sent  out 
German  officers,  poor  fellows,  to  starve  at  Missolonghi,  but  for  j 
my  assistance.    I  am  a  plain  man,  and  cannot  comprehend  the  I 
use  of  printing-presses  to  a  people  who  do  not  read.    Here  the  I 
Committee  have  sent  supplies  of  maps.    I  suppose  that  I  may  I 
teach  the  young  mountaineers  geography.    Here  are  bugle- 1 
horns  without  bugle-men,  and  it  is  a  chance  if  we  can  find  any  I 
body  in  Greece  to  blow  them.    Books  are  sent  to  people  who  I 
want  guns ;  they  ask  for  swords,  and  the  Committee  give  them  I 
the  lever  of  a  printing-press."  I 

"  My  future  intentions,"  continued  his  Lordship,  *'  as  to  I 
Greece,  may  be  explained  in  a  few  words.  I  will  remain  here  I 
until  she  is  secure  against  the  Turks,  or  till  she  has  fallen  un- 1 
der  their  power.  All  my  income  shall  be  spent  in  her  service;  I 
but,  unless  driven  by  some  great  necessity,  I  will  not  touch  a  I 
farthing  of  the  sum  intended  for  my  sister's  children.  What  I 
ever  I  can  accomplish  with  my  income,  and  my  personal  ex- 1 
ertions,  shall  be  cheerfully  done.  When  Greece  is  secure! 
against  external  enemies,  I  will  leave  the  Greeks  to  settle  their  I 
government  as  they  like.  One  service  more,  and  an  eminent  I 
service  it  will  be,  I  think  I  may  perform  for  them.  You,  Parry,  I 
fihall  have  a  schooner  built  for  me,  or  I  will  buy  a  vessel;  thai 
Greeks  shall  invest  me  with  the  character  of  their  ambassador,! 
or  agent:  I  will  go  to  the  United  States,  and  procure  that  free! 
and  enlightened  government  to  set  the  example  of  recognising  I 

England  must  follow  the  example,  and  then  the  fate  of  Greece  I 

will  be  permanently  fixed,  and  she  will  enter  into  all  her  rightJl 

as  a  member  of  the  great  commonwealth  of  Christian  Europe."! 

This  intention  will,  to  all  who  have  ever  looked  at  the  effectil 


LOUD  BY HON, 


ron  were  hastening  to 
(lain ! 

Greek  Committee  in 
ll-treated  by  the  Com- 
ent,  informed  me  that 
d  with  all  despatch.  I 
istened  my  depar.ture 

0  time  was  to  be  lost, 
'  waiting  on  me  at  his 
lich  gave  me  no  infor- 
lim,  I  shall  not  fail  to 
;  it  has  been  all  of  a 
lad  had  some  of  the 
ly  arrival  here :  they 
oceedings,  and  would 
lod  in  need  of.  They 
ay,  nor  have  sent  out 
t  Missolonghi,  but  for 
mnot  comprehend  the 
)  not  read.    Here  the 

1  suppose  that  I  may  j 
ly.    Here  are  bugJe- 
ice  if  we  can  find  any 
3  sent  to  people  who 
Committee  give  them 

lis  Lordship,  "  as  to 
.  I  will  remain  here 
till  she  has  fallen  un- 
I  spent  in  her  service; 
ty,  I  will  not  touch  a 
;r's  children.  What- 
and  my  personal  ex- 
m  Greece  is  secure 
Greeks  to  settle  their 
nore,  and  an  eminent 
or  them.  You,  Parry, 
vill  buy  a  vessel;  the 
•of  their  ambassador, 
and  procure  that  free 
ample  of  recognising 

en  the  fate  of  Greece! 
ter  into  all  her  rightJJ 
)f  Christian  Europe."! 
r  looked  at  the  effecti 


217 


it  might  have  proved  that  l!e  li^  1  '^"i  ''°'^'''^^"^^*'^' 
tion:  his  first  was  when  he  oassld  f.n  ""^^ /\^"other  luna- 
as  it  was,  it  lias  only  served  to  ^'1  r?u°''^  *^  ^^''''''^'  But 
by  the  decadency  of  jSrirp!  I  "'^^  ^'^  '"^"^  ^^'^  «"ffered 
of  self.exaltaSn'^w  ik^^^^^^^^^^^  ^^7  --^the  idea 

ness  was  secondary  to  the  «f  vIp tn  •  f  •?'?  P^^"""  ^^^  busi. 
Building  a  vesseKhv  hinS;  H^"'^^  '*  '^""^^  ^^  performed, 
means  of  goinrto  IZlt^l       ^''  conveyance  at  all  ?  as  if  the 

difficulty  if  SfdingtrmXt'hlrT'^  *''^'  '^''^  ^^^^t  be 
The  intention  was  unso^nd-^a  fen^'"^  '""!  P"'^^"Sr  from'  him. 
old  age-beffotten  of  the  Prr^    fantasy-a  dream  of  bravery  in 

of  Christendom  rouldremarn°u"nr^P°'^"r  '^"^  '^'  ^^^inets 
triumph  of  the  Greeks  n™-  p  """"'''^  spectators  of  the 
tion  of  their  struggle  °^  ^"^  ""^'y  W  procrastina- 


CHAPTER  XLVn. 

The  Jast  illness  and  death  of  Lord  Byron.-His  last  poem. 

att^kTfTp^lips^TrdXrt' ^  ''  "Y^  f  •'^'  ^^^*  -ft«r  the 
to  have  bee'n  esTentLllyfe^^^  ^^^  "ot  appear 

e|ous;  his  constitution  LdrSved  a  vital  tr?'  ^."Ju^""*' 
c'ting  causes,  vexation  and  corfSn^lll".  !'  '""^  "^^  '*• 
ills  irritation  ^"«"U8ion,  continued  to  exasperate 

whtl.m:dehiSrsVour!rP^""^'^.  ''  ^^^•i"-^  -^%os. 
factual  means  were  takenTo^,^^^^^  ^"t  "°  «f- 

loms;  and  he  relukrlv «nf.    au^T,  *^^'^  Portentous  symp. 

>)ats;  but  Sr  otefack^"  m/  T''^'^  T^^''"^^  ^" 
.convalescent :  his  mind  hnt!f "  •  P^y^'^'an  thought  him 

itrested  not  even  during  slJep''' """'  ^"  '°°^^^°^  excitemen.j 

4\nd  got  le^^  "on  liir^if  •  \^^  T^^^-  '>^  the 
>}ioleofhi8dress-bTh«T  i.  ^«tr.rn  home,  ho  changed  the 
I'nd  the  Bt^m  r^f  his  cotti  ulfon'^h^-"^  'I  ^''  wetLthes. 
Withstand  the  effects  Cinf^^i^L''!!"!  '!''^'^^  «°«Jd  not 
.Kized  with  rio-ors  fevpi-  J^j  "  ,'" "'"  ""^"  "^^  nours  ho  wan 
N?hUowevKe  s lent  j'n  I"    ^^^^'^''t'C  pains.    Daring  the 

Uent  himlZ  i^^^^^^^  ^^'"1"^'^'  ''^  this  did  not 

kaa  for  the  JasTume  ^    "*  °"  horseback  m  the  afternoon-,t 


218 


THE  LIFE  OP 


On  re  urning  home,  he  observed  to  one  of  the  servants  that 
the  saddle  was  not  perfectly  dry,  from  having  been  so  w^t  the 
day  before ;  and  that  he  thought  it  had  made^him  worsl  He 
Sr^f ''  V ''"^'  ""^'"'''^  "^*'^  '^^"^^^t  constant  shoeing  I  su! 
po  ed  but  t hoT  uT  f '"^"'f^'-^d,  and  blood-letting 'pro- 
posed,  but,   though   he   took   the   drugs,  he  objected  to   the 

?o  L'"^r  ..^"°.'^''  P^^"^'*-^"  was,in^consequeL    called  in 

OSS  of  blood  t1;-"h'  'r'  "'''''}"  '^PP^'-'^  -i^J-'^t  the 
IrrihpS  ?  ^?  '^'"'^'''  approved  of  the  medicines  pre- 
scribed,  and  was  not  opposed  to  the  opinion,  that  blecdinff  was 

on^'trim  r^  '^""'i'  '^'^^'  ^'  ^^t'^"«^  till  the  next^dr;. 

produced  io  efttr ""''  "^"'"  '^"^'•'  ^"^  ^^^  ^^^^^-^  ^-^ 

nefs^nnenSd  f '  T"-  '°"^""^  V'^  ^^^'^  ^^^^''^  ^"^  his  ill- 
DlafnedTf  n  f  f  •  ^  mcreasmg:  he  was  very  low,  and  com- 
plained  of  not  havmg  had  any  sleep  during  the  night;  but  the 
medical  gentlemen  saw  no  cause  for  a]a?m.  of  Bruno,  his 
own  physician,  again  proposed  bleeding;  the  stranger  kill 
however,  thought  it  might  be  deferred?  and  Byron  Wmsef 
was  opposed  to  it.  "  You  will  die,"  said  Dr.  bC,  "™y  u 
ttion  nf  T  ^"""'''^^  ?•  ^'  ^''^•"  "  Y«"  ^i«h  to  get  he  repu- 
whv  voLT"^^^  ^'"'^''-^  ^'P''^^  ^''  I^^'-dship,  "that  is 
Wee^d  me."      ""'      '"  '°  ''"°"''  "^"^  '  ^"^  ^°*  P^^^^t  you  to 

an?st^l!V^*^^•''  '!*  "^P  ^-^  ^"""^  **'"^'  ^^«^  ^  «J«6pIess  night; 
and  St  11  complained  of  pam  in  his  bones  and  head.  ^ 

Lhpd  li  ^  ^??f''  ^"^  ^^'  P^'"  ^"  ^^«  J^^^d  was  undimin- 
IhV^J  ^'?^'^^  alarmed,  and,  doubtful  of  the  skill  of 

for  nn  Pn'^'^r"!!'^  •""''  ^"i'-^'^t«d  permission  to  send  to  Zante 
diirpH  M^  f  physician  of  greater  reputation.  His  Lordship 
desired  him  to  consult  the  others ;  which  he  did  ;  and  they  told 

al^ouK^^^^^^^^^^  ^"  -^  P--"'  -  ^hey  h^ed 

»ti!l!  ^^^'^^^^P  »?^  began  to  doubt  if  his  disease  was  under- 
stood ,  and  remarked  repeatedly  in  the  course  of  this  day, 
that  hQ  was  sure  the  doctors  did  not  understand  it.  "Then, 
J?TK.  ;  I,  '^»  Fletcher,  his  valet,  "have  other  advice." 
mnn  L?  T^V  '^J°?^^  ^'^  Lordship,  « that ..  is  only  a  com- 
men  cold,  which  you  know  I  have  had  a  thousand  times." 

.»  T  f^  ^'^r^  y°"  '■  ^'""^^  ^'^^  °"c  of  so  serious  a  nature." 
1  think  I  never  hfld/ 

Iiifi!!lll!^/4-''^T"*  f^*^"  to  the  physicians,  and  repeated 
his  solicitations  that  the  doctor  in  Zante  might  be  sent  for; 
but  was  again  assured  that  his  master  would  be  better  in  two 
or  Anree  days. 


«viJ„^^iUp 


5  of  the  servants,  that 
avingf  been  so  wet  the 
lade  him  worse.  He 
)nstant  shivering ;  su- 
nd  blood-letting  i)ro. 
I,  he  objected  to  the 
snsequence,  called  in 
appeased  without  the 
r  the  medicires  pre- 
on,  that  bleeding  was 
red  till  the  next  day. 
mt  the  medicines  had 

ith  fever,  and  his  ill. 
i  very  low,  and  com- 
ig  the  night ;  but  the 
mn.  Dr.  Bruno,  his 
:;  the  stranger  still, 
and  Byron  himself 
I  Dr.  Bruno,  "  if  you 
wish  to  get  the  repu- 
s  Lordship,  "that  is 
ill  not  permit  you  to 

br  a  sleepless  night; 
md  head. 

e  fever  was  less,  but 
head  was  undimin- 
mbtfulofthe  skill  of 
sion  to  send  to  Zante 
ition.  His  Lordship 
lie  did  ;  and  they  told 
jerson,  as  they  hoped 

s  disease  was  under- 
course  of  this  day, 
erstand  it.  "Then, 
tiave  other  advice." 
that  11,  is  only  a  com- 
housand  times." 
bus  a  nature." 

ciana,  and  repeated 
might  be  sent  for; 
aid  be  better  in  two 


LORD  BYRON. 


219 


At  length  the  doctor,  who  had  too  easily  consented  tn  ih^ 
blecdmg,  and  ofno  longer  delay.    Th  s  convinrpH  R      ^  f 

y     seem 'Zch  T  "'f'"''  '"^^"'"  >""  "r-  Bruno  did  S 

fSnTfits     On  fr'"!''"''.  ^°t^°««^«ion«.  was  followed  by 
lainung  ftts.     Un  this  day  he  sad  to   Fletrhpr    »T  ^         * 

sleep,  and  you  well  know  I  have  L  been  able  to  J.    ?^ 

you  sunt?"  said  his  L-^dshin  i^hV.ri?r7  T"  ""^'^^^-    "have 

dsnip,  when  Fletcher  returned  to  him 


have,  my  Lord." 
fl°l!;ri^'^r  ^^"'  ^°>'  I  «h°"W  like  to  know 


matter  with  me. 
From  that  time  his  Lord 


what  is  the 


ship  grew  every  hour  weaker  and. 


m>^.> 


N    n 


.'»ii 


w^-i.. 


%m\ 


I         i    ,5*^' 


..«irs 


220 


THE  LIFE  OF 


weaker  ;  and  he  had  occasional  flights  of  delirium.  In  the  in- 
tervals  he  was,  however,  quite  self-possessed,  and  said  to 
Fletcher,  "  I  now  begin  to  think  I  am  seriously  ill ;  and  in 
case  I  should  be  taken  off  suddenly,  I  wish  to  give  you  several 
directions,  which  I  hope  you  will  be  particular  in  seeing  exe. 
cuted."  Fletcher  in  reply  expressed  his  hope  that  he  would 
live  many  years,  and  execute  them  himself.  "  No,  it  is  now 
nearly  over;  I  must  tell  you  all  without  losing  a  moment." 
"Shall  I  go,  my  liord,  and  fetch  pen,  ink,  and  paper  7" 
"Oh  my  God!  no;  you  will  lose  too  much  time,  and  I  have 
it  not  to  spare,  for  my  time  is  now  short.  Now  pay  attention— 
you  will  be  provided  for." 

"  I  beseech  you,  my  Lord,  to  proceed  with  things  of  more 
consequence." 
His  Lordship  then  added,  ,     ri  j 

"Oh,  my  poor  dear  child !— my  dear  Ada !— My  Godt 
could  I  have  but  seen  her— give  her  my  blessing— and  my 
dear  sister  Augusta,  and  her  children— and  you  will  goto  Lady 
Byron  and  say— tell  her  every  thing— you  are  friends  with 

her."  ,         ,.  ,     „. 

He  appeared  to  be  greatly  affected  at  this  moment.  His 
voice  failed,  and  only  words  could  be  caught  at  intervals ;  but 
he  kept  muttering  something  very  seriously  for  some  time, 
and  after  raising  his  voice,  said,  , .  i   » 

"  Fletcher,  now  if  you  do  not  execute  every  order  which  I 
have  given  you,  I  will  torment  you  hereafter,  if  possible." 

This  little  speech  is  the  last  characteristic  expression  which 
escaped  from  the  dying  man.  He  knew  Fletcher's  supersti- 
tious  tendency :  and  it  cannot  be  questioned,  that  the  threat 
was  the  last  feeble  flash  of  his  prankfulness.  The  faithful  va- 
let  replied,  in  consternation,  that  he  had  not  understood  one 
word  of  what  his  Lordship  had  been  saying.  ^ 

"  Oh  !  my  God !"  was  the  reply,  "  then  all  is  lost,  for  it  is 
now  too  late !    Can  it  be  possible  you  have  not  understood 


me 


)'» 


"No,  my  Lord,  but  I  pray  you  to  try  and  inform  me  once 
more." 

"  How  can  I  ?  it  is  now  too  late,  and  all  is  over. 

"  Not  our  will,  but  God's  be  done,"  said  Fletcher ;  and  his 
Lordship  made  another  effort,  saying, 

..  t-r  .         • i-_    J u,,i    T   ...;il    *«tt" nnA    ho   mnnfl 

■"   SOS,  not  rniiiu    uc  nunc — uut  i   vrnt   vij       -•••' -  

several  attempts  to  speak,  but  could  only  repeat  two  or  three 
words  at  a  time  ;  such  as, 

"  My  wife !  my  child— my  sister— you  know  all— you  niust 
say  all— you  know  my  wishes." The  rest  was  unintelligible. 

A  consultation  with  three  other  doctors,  in  addition  to  the 


irium.  In  the  in- 
sect, and  Baid  to 
iously  ill ;  and  in 

0  give  you  several 
liar  in  seeing  exe- 
)pe  that  he  would 

"  No,  it  is  now 
ig  a  moment." 
and  paper '.'" 

1  time,  and  I  have 
w  pay  attention — • 

th  things  of  more 


Ada!— My  God! 
blessing — and  my 
'ou  will  go  to  Lady 
.  are  friends  with 

Ills  moment.  His 
t  at  intervals ;  but 
ly  for  some  time, 

ery  order  which  I 
•,  if  possible." 
;  expression  which 
'letcher's  supersti- 
5d,  that  the  threat 
The  faithful  va- 
ot  understood  one 

ill  is  lost,  for  it  is 
ve  not  understood 

1  inform  me  once 

!  over." 

Fletcher ;  and  his 

speat  two  or  three 

low  all — you  must 
was  unintelligible, 
in  addition  to  the 


LORD  BYRON. 


221 


two  physicians  m  regular  attendance,  was  now  held  ;  and  thev 
appeared  to  think  the  disease  was  changing  from  inHammatory 
diathesis  to  languid;  and  ordered  stimulants  to  be  administer- 
'  ,  I'  ."**  opposed  tliiswith  the  greatest  warmth;  and 
pointed  out  that  the  symptoms  were  those,  not  of  an  alteration 
in  the  disease  but  of  a  fever  Hying  to  the  brain,  which  was  vio- 
lent y  attacked  by  It;  and,  that  the  stimulants  they  proposed 
would  kill  more  speedily  than  the  disease  itself.     While,  on 

1  !i  t  i't'''''  \^  >*'"P^'''''  bleeding,  and  the  medicines  that 
had  been  taken  before,  he  miglit  still  be  saved.  The  other 
physicians  however,  were  of  a  different  opinion;  and  then  Dr. 
liruno  declared  he  would  risk  no  further  responsibility.  Peru- 
yian  bark  and  wine  were  then  administered.  After  takinir 
these  stimulants,  his  Lordship  expressed  a  wish  to  sleep.  His 
last  words  were,  "  I  must  sleep  now;"  and  he  composed  him- 
seJt  accordingly,  but  never  awoke  again. 

For  four-and-twenty  hours  he  continued  in  a  state  of  letharffv, 
vvith  the  rattles  occasionally  in  his  throat.  At  six  o'clock  m 
he  morning  of  the  19th,  Fletcher,  who  was  watching  by  his 
bed-side,  saw  him  open  his  eyes  and  then  shut  them,  apparently 
without  pain  or  moving  hand  or  foot.  "  My  God !"  exclaimed 
the  faithful  valet,  "  I  tear  his  Lordship  is  gone."  The  doctors 
telt  his  pulse— it  was  so. 

After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well. 

But  the  fittest  dirge  is  his  own  last  lay,  written  on  the  day  he 
completed  his  thirty-sixth  year,  soon  after  his  arrival  at  Misso- 
longhi,  when  his  hopes  of  obtaining  distinction  in  the  Greek 

'Tis  time  this  heart  should  be  unmoved 

Since  others  it  has  ceased  to  move, 
Yet  though  I  cannot  be  beloved 
Still  let  me  love. 

My  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf, 

The  flowers  and  fruits  oflove  are  gone, 
The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief 
Are  mine  alone. 


The  fire  that  in  my  bosom  preys 

1-  .....    ...  ^..,1!^  ri-m.aitn;  laic, 

Ne  torch  is  kindled  at  its  blaze— 
A  funeral  pile. 

The  hope,  the  fears,  the  jealous  care, 

Th"  exalted  portion  of  the  pain, 
And  power  of  love  I  cannot  share. 
But  wear  the  chain. 
t2 


11 

^m\  iti 


222 


: '  e.' 


THE  LIFE  OF 

But  'tis  not  here— it  is  not  here- 
Such  thoughts  sliould  shake  my  soul ;  nor  now 
Where  glory  seals  the  hero's  bier, 
Or  binds  his  brow. 

The  sword,  tlie  banner,  and  tlie  field, 

Glory  and  Greece  around  us  see  ; 
The  Spartan  borne  upon  his  shield 
Was  not  more  free. 

Awake !  not  Grfiece— she  is  awake — 

Awake  my  spirit !  think  through  whom 
My  life-blood  tai^tes  its  parent  lake, 
And  then  strike  home! 

I  tread  reviving  passions  down. 

Unworthy  manhood !  Unto  thee 
Indifllerent  should  the  smile  or  frown 
Of  beauty  be. 

If  thou  regrett'st  thy  youth,  why  live? 

The  land  of  honourable  death 
Is  here,  up  to  the  field  and  give 
Away  thy  breath. 

Seek  out— less  often  sought  than  found— 

A  soldier's  grave— for  thoe  the  best, 
Then  look  around,  and  choose  thy  ground, 
And  take  thy  rest. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

The  funeral  preparations  and  final  obsequies. 

The  death  of  Lord  Byron  was  felt  by  all  Greece  as  a  national 
misfortune.  From  the  moment  it  was  known  that  fears  were 
entertained  for  his  life,  the  profjress  of  the  disease  was  watched 
with  the  deepest  anxiety  and  sorrow.  On  Easter  Sunday,  the 
day  on  which  he  expired,  thousands  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Missolonghi  had  assembled  on  the  pnacious  plain  on  the  out- 
side of  the  city,  according  to  an  anci*..:t  custom,  to  exchange 
the  salutations  of  the  morning ;  but  on  this  occasion  it  was  re- 
marked, that  instead  of  the  wonted  congratulation,  "  Christ  is 
risen,"  they  inquired  first  "  How  is  Lord  Byron  ?" 

On  the  event  being  made  known,  the  Provisional  Govern- 
ment  assembled,  and  a  proclamation,  of  which  the  following  is 
a  translation,  was  issued : 

"  Provisional  Government  of  Western  Greece. 
"  The  dsy  of  fop-livity  and  rejoicing  is  turned  into  one  of  sor- 
row and  mourning, 

"  The  Lord  Noel  Byron  departed  this  life  at  eleven*  o'clock 

*  Fletcher's  Narrative  implies  at  six  that  evening,  the  19th  April,  1824. 


LORD  BYRON. 


223 


nor  novr 


>tn 


nd, 


ibseqiiies. 

Greece  as  a  national 
ivvn  that  fears  were 
disease  was  watched 
Easter  Sunday,  the 
the  inhabitants  of 
us  plain  on  the  out- 
ustom,  to  exchange 
I  occasion  it  was  re- 
ituktion,  "  Christ  is 
Jyron  ?" 

Provisional  Govern- 
lich  the  following  is 

'  Western  Greece. 
rr.ed  into  one  of  sor- 

e  at  eleven*  o'clock 
ig,  the  19th  April,  1^. 


last  nighU  after  an  illness  of  ten  days.    His  death  t-ro  p„„.„j 
bv  an  mflammatory  fever.     Such  w'a;  tlfe  eS  of 'h  sTord 
tX\      T  ^"  '^'  P"^"°  "''"^'  t^'^t  all  classes  had  for.o"^^^^^^ 

deZeS  \TJ!'r'''  "^"1"""«  individual  is  undoubtedly  to  be 
tot  LA  ^  :  .^'''''^'  ;  ^"*  '^  "'"^^  ^e  more  especially  a  sub^ 
ject  of  lanieutation  at  Missoloiighi,  where  his  ienerosit    hfl« 

a  d?r3 Zlf  '''^i^y^^^  of  which  ifeTaHec  '„\' 

thfd;rg'er;of  ;':>  f:r  ^^^«--^"-  of  participating  m  an 

LnlF.h-J  ^""^y  ''  acquainted  with  the  beneficent  acts  of  his 
Jlltct.'      '"'""  ''"  '''''  ^°  ^^'^ ''''  "^"'«  -« that  of  a  real 

vernmenl'b«?f°'''  ^'''A""^  determination  of  the  national  Go- 
vernmcnt  be  known  and  hy  virtue  of  the  powers  with  which  it 
has  been  pleased  to  invest  m.,  I  hereby  decree : 

puns  shnn  h^^'T/""'"'.""'  ^^  '^^y-^ht,  thi:ty.seven  minute, 
guns  shall  be  hred  from  the  grand  battery,  being  the  number 

"  od'Arer'^f"^  '^'  ^^^  "^^'^^  illu^lrious^dereased  " 
main  rlnti  f     K"^  "^  °^''^''?  ^'^^^  ^^  ^^^  tribunals,  are  to  re- 

!?j  th'"^''  successive  days. 

"3d.  All  tlie  shops,  except  those  in  which  provisions  or 
medicmes  are  sold,  will  also  be  shut;  and  it  is  strictly  eSned 

ttn?J?g;STF'f"'  -nusement  and  other  demoLstra- 
uons  ot  testivity  at  Easter  may  bo  suspended. 

days  ^  mourning  will  be  observed  for  twenty^one 

aim?;hurSs!  "'  "  '"'"''  '''''''  '''  ''  h«  "^•^-^  "P  in 

"A.  MAVROCORDATOS. 
"  Given  at  Missolonghi,  thi':  mTy'lfTA  imT"" 

sioI^h/sTril°'^^4?"  was  written  and  delivered  on  the  occa- 
bonnJ-^^  r  x^  Tricoupi,  and  ordered  by  the  government  to 
be  pubhshed.  No  token  of  respect  that  reverence  could  sug! 
ge  ,  or  custom  and  religion  sanction,  was  omitted  by  the  publfc 
autJiorities,  nor  by  the  people.  ^        ^ 

Lord  Byron  having  omitted  to  give  directions  for  the  disnosa 

.ti^l^^^^^A^^-?  diffi<r"lty  arose^  about  fixin.  the  nkce  o^^fn! 

MnTln'  7  ""f  ^^T  ^''•"^  embahncd,  it  was  sent,  on  the  2d  of 

eSion  nf  T   '7  p'"'  '^  'T  "''^  ^y  ^""-^  Si'^^'^y  Osborne,  a 

«t\rat  Cor^^'  ■^^^°"'  'y  ™arriage-the  secrLry  of  the 

If  w  as  the  wish  of  Lord  Sidney  Osborne,  and  others,  that 


iU^i  . 


Hfrw? 


•J24 


THE  LIFE  OP 


i!i 


11^ — Kt.     i 


■jjrwT 


the  interment  should  he  in  Zanto  ;  but  the  English  opposed  the 
proposition  in  the  most  decided  manner.  It  was  then  suggested 
that  it  should  bo  conveyed  to  Athens,  and  dcijosited  in  tlie  temple 
of  Theseus,  or  in  the  Parthenon — Ulysses  Odysseus,  the  go- 
vornor  of  Athens,  having  sent  an  express  to  Missolonghi,  to 
solicit  the  remains  for  that  city ;  but,  before  it  arrived,  they 
were  already  in  Zante,  and  a  vchscI  engagrd  to  carry  them  to 
London,  in  the  expectation  that  they  would  be  deposited  in 
Westminister  Abbey  or  St.  Paul's. 

On  the  25th  of  May,  the  Florida  left  Zante  with  the  body, 
which  Colonel  Stanhope  accompanied  ;  and,  on  the  29th  of  June 
it  reached  the  Downs.  After  the  ship  was  cleared  for  quaran- 
.  tine,  Mr.  Hobhousc,  with  his  Lordship's  solicitor,  received  it 
from  Colonel  Stanhope,  and,  by  tiieir  directions,  it  was  removed 
to  the  house  of  Sir  E.  Knatchbull,  in  Westminster,  where  it 
lay  in  state  several  days. 

Tiie  dignitaries  of  the  Abbey  and  of  St.  Paul's  having,  as  it 
was  said,  refused  permission  to  deposit  the  remains  in  cither 
of  these  great  national  receptacles  of  the  illustrious  dead,  it  was 
determined  that  they  should  be  laid  in  the  ancestral  vault  of 
the  Byrons.  The  funeral,  instead  of  being  public,  was  in  con- 
sequence  private,  and  attended  by  only  a  lew  select  friends  to 
Hucknell,  a  small  village  about  two  miles  from  Newstead 
Abbey,  in  the  church  of  which  the  vault  is  situated;  there  the 
coffin  was  deposited,  in  conformity  to  a  wish  early  expressed 
by  the  poet,  that  his  dust  might  be  mingled  with  his  mother's. 
Yet,  unmeet  and  plain  as  the  solemnity  was  in  its  circum- 
stances,  a  remarkable  incident  gave  it  interest  and  distinction: 
as  it  passed  along  the  streets  of  London,  a  sailor  was  observed 
walking  uncovered  near  the  hearse,  and  on  being  asked  what 
he  was  doing  there,  replied  that  he  had  served  Lord  Byron  in 
the  Levant  and  had  come  to  pay  his  last  respects  to  his  remains; 
a  simple  but  emphatic  testimony  to  the  sincerity  of  that  regard 
Avhich  his  Lordship  often  inspired,  and  which  with  more  steadi- 
Jiess  he  might  always  have  commanded. 

The  coffin  bears  the  following  inscription  : 

Lord  Byron,  of  Rochdale, 

Born  in  London,  January  22,  1788 ; 

Died  at  Missolonghi, 

IN  Western  Greece, 

Apnii     10     1QO/4 

A  R  rues,    -^-^f     xOa^"XI 

Beside  the  coffin  the  urn  is  placed,  the  inscription  on  which  is, 
Within  this  urn  are  deposited  the  heart,  brains,  Sfc,  of  the 
deceased  Lord  Byron. 


English  opposed  tho 
was  then  suggested 
osited  in  the  temple 
Odysseus,  the  go- 
to MisHolonghi,  to 
)re  it  arrived,  they 
d  to  carry  them  to 
Id  be  deposited  in 

nte  with  the  body, 
on  the  29th  of  June 
cleared  for  quaran- 
)licitor,  received  it 
)ns,  it  was  removed 
stminster,  where  it 

Paul's  having,  as  it 
'  remains  in  either 
istrious  dead,  it  was 
ancestral  vault  of 

public,  was  in  con- 
w  select  friends  to 
es  from  Newstead 
situated ;  there  the 
sh  early  expressed 

with  his  mother's, 
svas  in  its  circum- 
est  and  distinction: 
sailor  was  observed 

being  asked  what 
ved  Lord  Byron  in 
cets  to  his  remains; 
erity  of  that  regard 
!h  with  more  steadi- 


1788; 


;ription  on  which  is, 
)raina,  Sfc,  of  the 


LORD  BYRON.  225 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

The  character  of  Lord  Byron. 

Mv  endeavour  in  the  foregoing  pages,  has  heen  to  give  a 
general  view  of  the  mtellectual  character  of  Lord  Byron.     It 
did  not  accord  with  the  plan  to  enter  minutely  into  the  details 
ot  his  private  life,  which  I  suspect  was  not  greatly  different 
from  that  of  any  other  person  of  his  rank,  not  distinguished  for 
particular  severity  of  manners.     In  some  respects  his  Lordship 
was,  no  doubt,  peculiar.     He  possessed  a  vivaciy  of  sensibility 
not  common,  and  talents  of  a  very  extraordinary  kind.     He 
was  also  distinguished  for  superior  personal  elegance,  particu- 
larly  ,n  his  bust.     The  style  and  character  of  his  head  was 
umversally  admired  ;  but  perhaps  the  beauty  of  his  phvsioir. 
nomy  has  been  more  highly  spoken  of  than  it  really  merited. 
Its  chief  grace  consisted,  when  he  was  in  a  gay  humour,  of  a 
liveliness  which  gave  a  joyous  meaning  to  every  articulation 
ot  the  muscles  and  features  :  when  he  was  less  agreeably  dis. 
posed,  the  expression  was  morose  to  a  very  repulsive  degree. 
It  IS,  however,  unnecessary  to  describe  his  personal  character 
jere.     1  have  already  said  enough,  incidentally,  to  explain  mv 
full  opinion  of  It.     In  the  mass,  I  do  not  think  it  was  calculated 
to  attract  much  permanent  affection  or  esteem.     In  the  detail 
It  was  the  revx-rse :  few  men  possessed  more  companionable 
qualities  than  Lord  Byron  did  occasionally ;  and  seen  at  inter, 
vals  in  those  felicitous  moments,  I  imagine  it  would  have  been 
difhcult  to  have  said,  that  a  more  interesting  companion  had 
been  previously  met  with.     But  he  was  not  always  in  that 
ascnating  state  of  pleasantry ;  he  was  as  often  otherwise: 
and  no  two  individuals  could  be  more  distinct  from  each  other 
nan  iJyron  in  his  gaiety  and  in  his  misanthropy.     This  an- 
tithesis  was  the  great  cause  of  that  diversity  of  ooinion  con- 
cernmg  him,   which   has   so  much  divided   his   friends  and 
a/lversaries.     Of  his  character  as  a  poet  there  can  be  no  dif. 
terence  of  opinion,  but  oniv  a  difference  in  the  dcffree  of  ad- 
miration.  '  g         *  ou 

Excellence  in  talent,  as  in  every  other  thing,  is  comparative  ; 
but  the  universal  republic  of  letters  will  acknowledge,  that  in 
energy  or  expression  and  liveliness  of  imagery  Byron  had  no 
equal  in  his  own  time.     Doubts,  indeed,  may  be  entertained, 

in  these  high  qualities  even  Shakspeare  himself  was  his 
BUperior. 

I  am  not  disposed  to  think  with  many  of  those  who  rank  th» 


Hi 

m  4 
ill 


■# 


^tint 


P3 


226 


THE  LIFE  OF 


genius  of  Byron  almost  as  supreme,  that  he  has  shown  less 
skill  in  the  construction  of  his  plots,  and  the  development  of 
his  tales,  than  might  have  been  expected  from  one  so  splendidly 
endowed ;  for  it  has  ever  appeared  to  me  that  he  has  accom- 
plished  in  them  every  thing  lie  proposed  to  attain,  and  that  in 
this  consists  one  of  his  great  merits.  His  mind,  fervid  and  ira- 
passioned,  was,  in  all  his  compositions  except  Don  Juan,  eagerly 
fixed  on  the  catastrophe.  He  ever  held  the  goal  full  in  view, 
and  drove  to  it  in  the  most  immediate  manner.  By  this  straight- 
forward simplicity  all  the  interest  which  intricacy  excites  was  of 
necessity  disregarded.  He  is  therefore  not  treated  justly  when  it 
is  supposed  that  he  might  have  done  better  had  he  shown  more 
art :  the  wonder  is  that  he  sliould  have  produced  such  magni. 
ficent  effects  with  so  little.  He  could  not  have  made  the  satiated 
and  meditative  Harold  so  darkling  and  excursive,  so  lone, 
"  aweary,"  and  misanthropical,  had  he  treated  him  as  the  hero 
of  a  scholastic  epic.  The  might  of  the  poet  in  such  creations 
lay  in  the  riches  of  his  diction,  and  in  the  felicity  with  which 
he  described  feelings  in  relation  to  the  aspect  of  scenes,  and 
the  reminiscences  with  which  the  scenes  themselves  were  as- 
sociated. 

If  in  language  and  plan  he  be  so  excellent,  it  may  be  asked 
why  should  he  not  be  honoured  with  that  pre-eminent  niche  in 
the  temple  which  so  many  in  the  world  have  by  suffrage  as- 
signed to  them  ?  Simply,  because  with  all  the  life  and  beauty 
of  his  style,  the  vigour  and  truth  of  his  descriptions,  the  bold- 
ness of  his  conceptions,  and  the  reach  of  his  vision  into  the  dark 
abysses  of  passion.  Lord  Byron  was  but  imperfectly  acquainted 
with  human  nature.  He  looked  but  on  the  outside  of  man. 
No  characteristic  action  distinguishes  one  of  his  heroes  from 
another,  nor  is  there  much  dissimilarity  in  their  sentiments ; 
they  have  no  individuality ;  they  stalk  and  pass  in  mist  and 
gloom,  grim,  ghastly,  and  portentous,  mysterious  Bhado\ys, 
entities  of  the  twilight,  weird  things  like  the  sceptred  effigies 
of  the  unborn  issue  of  Banquo. 

Combined  with  vast  power,  Lord  Byron  possessed,  beyond 
all  question,  the  greatest  degree  of  originality  of  any  poet  of 
this  age.  In  this  rare  quality  he  has  no  parallel  in  any  age. 
All  otTier  poets  and  inventive  authors  are  measured  in  their 
excellence  by  the  accuracy  with  whi<.h  they  fit  sentiments  ap- 
propriate not  only  to  the  characters  they  create,  but  to  the 
situations  in  whicli  they  place  them  :  the  works  of  Lord  Byron  j 
display  the  opposite  to  this,  and  with  the  most  extraordinary 
splendour.  mHo  endows  his  creations  with  his  own  qualities; 
■  he  finds  in  the  situations  in  which  he  places  them  only  oppor- 
tunities to  express  wh^-t  ho  has  himself  folt  or  suffered ;  and 


LORD  BYKON. 


227 


111  I; 


of  powe?"t  his^il  ^I'^^'^'^^^l  present  a  prodigious  display 
|.ch.eveme„,.    The  terriBc  fables  of  EwVand^f  SS 

K  frl  l  ^'^'''''^'T   .""  ^^*^  doneado^d  which  seveJa 

comrniseratfon  L  7    ^f  .^^^^^dges  no  contrition  to  besj^ak 
for  he  feeif  n  "n^^^^  «f  "«  wrong  to  justify  revenge, 

his  perdTtion        '         ''P''"'  sympathy,  and  almost  glories  in 

of 'Sinaliiv°"t5  •  "'>'  "'^"'"".^^^  ^^  ^"  the  sublimest  degree 

qui  f p"owl'  wofth^  ofThr^"'*'  ^"^^'^  ^"'^  feelingsfre. 
c\nfihT/Tu!Ll^°5*''7  °^  ,*h«  conception  ;  and  to  make  it  sua. 
of  h7,^'o""  "^'"^  •^•""tempjaied  as  within  the  scone  and  ranjyp 

J^d  "arcerrt  fl^^  ^'r  ^"  ^'«  -ntem^rS 

of  hnmnnT    •        ^'^t"''  h*^  described  in  Satan  the  ffreatest 
nteZ^nTT"''  «"P/«atural  attributes,  directed  to  immo  ta 
i  oX^^^^^^^  me.^ing.ishable  revenge;  buTsatan 

"'J-  a  dilatation  of  man.  Manfred  is  loftier,  and  worse  than 


f 


JIH! 


228 


THE  LIFE   OP 


Satan ;  he  has  conquered  punishment,  having  within  himself 
a  greater  than  hell  can  inflict.  There  is  a  fearful  mystery  in 
this  conception ;  it  is  only  by  solemnly  questioning  the  spirits 
that  lurk  within  the  dark  metaphors  in  which  Manfred  ex- 
presses himself,  that  the  hideous  secrets  of  the  character  can 
be  conjectured. 

But  although  in  intellectual  power,  and  in  creative  origi- 
nality,  Lord  Byron  is  entitled  to  stand  on  the  highest  peak  of 
the  mountain,  his  verse  is  often  so  harsh,  and  his  language  so 
obscure,  that  in  the  power  of  delighting  he  is  only  a  poet  of  the 
second  class.  He  had  all  the  talent  and  the  means  requisite 
to  embody  his  conceptions  in  a  manner  worthy  of  their  might 
and  majesty ;  his  treasury  was  rich  in  every  thing  rare  and 
beautiful  for  illustration,  but  he  possessed  not  the  instinct  re- 
quisite  to  guide  him  in  the  selection  of  the  things  necessary  to 
the  inspiration  of  delight ; — he  could  give  his  statute  life  and 
beauty,  and  warmth,  and  motion,  and  eloquence,  but  not  a  tune- 
ful voice. 

Some  curious  metaphysicians,  in  their  subtle  criticism,  have 
said  that  Don  Juan  was  but  the  bright  side  of  Childe  Harold, 
and  that  all  its  most  brilliant  imagery  was  similar  to  that  of 
which  the  dark  and  the  shadows  were  delineated  in  his  other 
works.  It  may  be  so.  And,  without  question,  a  great  simi- 
larity runs  through  every  thing  that  has  come  from  the  poet's 
pen ;  but  it  is  a  family  resemblance,  the  progeny  are  all  like 
one  another  ;  but  where  are  those  who  are  like  them  ?  I  know 
of  no  author  in  prose  or  rhyme,  in  the  English  language,  with 
whom  Byron  can  be  compared.  Imitators  of  his  manner  there 
will  be  often  and  many,  but  he  will  ever  remain  one  of  the 
few  whom  the  world  acknowledges  are  alike  supreme,  and  yet 
unlike  each  other— epochal  characters,  who  mark  extraordinary 
periods  in  history. 

Raphael  is  the  only  man  of  pre-eminence  whose  career  can 
be  compared  with  that  of  Byron.  At  an  age  when  the  genius  of 
most  rtiin  is  but  in  the  dawning,  they  had  both  attained  their 
meridian  of  glory,  and  they  both  died  so  early,  that  it  may  be 
a&id  they  were  lent  to  the  world  only  to  show  the  height  to  which 
the  mind  may  ascend  when  time  shall  be  allowed  to  accomplish 
the  full  cultivation  of  such  extraordinary  endowments. 


ving  within  himself 
a  fearful  mystery  in 
lestioning  the  spirits 
which  Manfred  ex- 
)f  the  character  can 

d  in  creative  origi- 
the  highest  peak  of 
and  his  language  so 
is  only  a  poet  of  the 
the  means  requisite 
»rthy  of  their  might 
irery  thing  rare  and 
1  not  the  instinct  re- 
things  necessary  to 
s  his  statute  life  and 
lence,  but  not  a  tune- 

ubtle  criticism,  have 
e  of  Childe  Harold, 
is  similar  to  that  of 
lineated  in  his  other 
lestion,  a  great  simi- 
jome  from  the  poet's 
progeny  are  all  like 
like  them  ?  I  know 
^lish  language,  with 
of  his  manner  there 
r  remain  one  of  the 
ke  supreme,  and  yet 
•  mark  extraordinary 

ce  whose  career  can 
( when  the  genius  of 
I  both  attained  their 
3arly,  that  it  may  be 
V  the  height  to  which 
Uowed  to  accomplish 
indowments. 


APPENDIX. 


ANECDOTES  OF  LORD  BYRON. 

reus  to  preserve  anH  lr.li  fu       '-^^  *^^*  ^""^  ««'  '  am  desi. 

of  the  work!  could  I  hZf    T  T^'^^'^''  ^^^"^  '»  the  body 

been  able  to  Ce  made  £  %^"'".^  ^^^''  ^""^  *^°'"ff  «°'  o' 
narrative.  ^^  ^^^"^  ^^'^  ^^  Parcel  of  a  systemitic 

^^^n\l^to^n^ee1i:Z^^^^^  talents,  but  who  had  never 
was  reduced  trgreat  ha  dsh  nf  tl'"'  *?  f,°y  Profitable  account, 
family.  The  oflv  irln  i^^  T^^  *^^  misfortunes  of  her 
for  relief  v,7re  abroad    nnH  I^°™  '^'  ^*^"'^  ^^''^  ^opS 

of  those  She  held  dea/than  bX/"'  "^"""^  ^^  '^'  ^^^^^^^^ 
tion  to  wait  on  Lord  Bvron  a^  hi  o^"' summoned  up  resolu- 
and  solicit  his  sobscriS  to  „  v  r  ^P^'tments  in  the  Albany, 
previous  knowIeZe  o?  Mm  °1T^  °^  P^"'^^  «he  had  no 

the  boldness  and|eirn?eTjre^^^^^^^^  '^V"^'^^'  ^"t  from 

he  must  be  a  man  of  a  find^hP  h  „  "Z^^'^'vf  ^'  "°"^'"^«*i  that 
entered  the  apartment  wfth  diS^'^o       T'^^^^  disposition.  She 

to  state  her  requesT  whirh if  ?f  ""it'  ^"*  '°°"  ^°""d  courage 

He  listened  with  attlSn    and  Jh'^  T^^f^  ^"^  ^«"<^^«^ 

he,  as  if  to  divert  her  thono-'br,  f        "  ^Y  ^^^  ^°"«  speaking. 

hut  be  painful  to  heJ  be.fn  .  ^'°"'  ^  '"''J"^*  ^hich  could  n? 

fascinating,  and  to^e;  solTn  r^ff 'u  ""t^  ^''  ^"  ^^^^^  «o 

had  been  writing^^^ni    hffutaif  '^'  hardly  perceived  he 

saying  it  was  hifsubscrinHnn        f^  fj^^^'  ^"*°  her  hand, 

ed  her  success  -'But 'added  'h?.  '^^'  ^^  ^^  ^'^''^y  '^^'^^ 

world  is  very  censorbus    and  .o  VT  ^'^  ^°*^  ^°""S-»  '^"^  the 

part  in  procirinffsubscriWr^  fn        ^  "^"'^  *°  ^^^  «"y  ^^tive 

you  harm,  rathe?  than  S'     ffi'  ?»««'«' '  tear  it  would  do 

by  the  prudence  and  defcacv  J  hi  ^°"!5^   ady,  overpowered 

island  of  Cephalonia, 
several  persons  h 


near 


Metaxata, 


U 


igaged,  dig. 


229 


230 


APPENDIX. 


If!' 


ging,  fell  in,  and  buried  some  of  them  alive.  He  was  at  dinner 
when  he  heard  of  the  accident ;  starting  up  from  table,  he  fled 
to  the  spot,  accompanied  by  his  physician.  The  labourers  em- 
ployed  in  extracting  their  companions  soon  became  alarmed  for 
themselves,  and  refused  to  go  on,  saying,  they  believed  they 
had  dug  out  all  the  bodies  which  had  been  covered  by  the  rub- 
bish. Byron  endeavoured  to  force  them  to  continue  their  ex- 
ertions ;  but  finding  menaces  in  vain,  he  seized  a  spade,  and 
began  to  dig  most  zealously  ;  when  the  peasantry  joined  him, 
and  they  succeeded  in  saving  two  more  persons  from  certain 
death." — GalignanVs  edition. 

III. 

•|  A  school-fellow  of  Byron's  had  a  very  small  Shetland  pony, 
V'iiich  his  father  had  bought  for  him :  they  went  one  day  to 
the  banks  of  the  Don  to  bathe ;  but  having  only  tho  pony,  they 
were  obliged  to  follow  the  good  old  practice,  called  in  Scotland, 
*  "ids  and  tie ;'  when  they  camq  iq  the  bridge  over  the  dark 
romantic  stream,  Byron  bethought  him  of  the  prophecy  which 
he  hi's  quoted  in  Don  Juan. 

'  Brig  o'  Balgounie,  black 's  your  wa' 
Wi'  a  wife's  ae  son  and  a  mare's  ae  foal 
Doun  ye  shuJl  fa !' 

He  immediately  stopped  his  companion,  who  was  riding,  and 
asked  him  if  he  remembered  the  prophecj,  saying,  that  as 
they  were  both  only  sons,  and  as  the  pony  might  be  *  a  mare's 
ae  foal,'  he  would  ride  over  first ;  because  he  had  only  a 
mother  to  lament  him,  should  the  prophecy  be  fulfilled  by  the 
falling  of  the  bridge;  whereas  the  other  had  both  a  father  and 
a  mother." — GalignanVs  Edition. 

IV. 

"When  Lord  Byron  was  a  member  of  the  Managing 
(query,  mis-managing)  Committee  of  Drury-lane  Theatre, 
Bartley  was  speaking  with  him  on  the  decay  of  the  drama, 
and  took  occasion  to  urge  his  Lordship  to  write  a  tragedy  for 
the  stage  :  '  I  cannot,'  was  the  reply.  *  I  don't  know  how  to 
make  the  peopk  go  on  and  off  in  the  scenes,  and  know  not 
where  to  find  a  fit  character.'  '  Take  your  own,'  said  Bartley, 
meaning,  in  the  honesty  of  his  heart,  one  of  his  Laras  or 
Childe  Harolds.  •  Much  obliged  to  you,'  was  the  reply — and 
exit  in  a  huff.  Byron  thought  he  spoke  literally  of  hi3  .wn 
Tfcal  character." 

V. 

Lord  Byron  was  very  jealous  of  his  title.  "  A  friend  told 
me,  that  an  Italian  apothecary  having  sent  him  one  day  a 
packet  of  medicines  addressed  to  '  Mons.  Byron,'  this  meek- 


/e.  He  was  at  dinner 
up  from  table,  he  fled 
.  The  labourers  em- 
n  became  alarmed  for 
g,  they  believed  they 
n  covered  by  the  rub- 
to  continue  their  ex- 
i  seized  a  spade,  and 
leasantry  joined  him, 
persons  from  certain 


small  Shetland  pony, 
hey  went  one  day  to 
g  only  tho  pony,  they 
ce,  called  in  Scotland, 
jridge  over  the  dark 
'  the  prophecy  which 


bal 

who  was  riding-,  and 
ecj,  saying,  that  as 
f  might  be  *  a  mare's 
luse  he  had  only  a 
;y  be  fulfilled  by  the 
lad  both  a  father  and 


of  the  Managing 
Drury-lane  Theatre, 
decay  of  the  drama, 

0  write  a  tragedy  for 

1  don't  know  how  to 
cenes,  and  know  not 
IT  own,'  said  Hartley, 
one  of  his  Laras  or 
was  the  reply — and 
literally  of  his   .wn 


tie.  "  A  friend  told 
sent  him  one  day  a 
.  Byron,'  this  mcck- 


APPENDIX.  231 

heroic  mistake  aroused  his  indignation,  and  he  sent  the  physic 
back,  to  learn  better  manners."— Leig-A  Hunt. 

VI. 
"He  affected  to  doubt  whether  Shakspeare  was  so  great  a 
genius  as  he  has  been  taken  for.     There  was  a  greater  com- 
mittal  of  himself  at  the  bottom  of  this  notion  than  he  sup- 
posed ;  and  perhaps  circumstances  had  really  disenabled  him 
from  having  the  proper  idea  of  Shakspeare,  though  it  could  not 
have  fallen  so  short  of  the  truth  as  he  pretended.    Spenser  he 
could  not  read  ;  at  least  he  said  .so.     I  lent  him  a  volume  of 
the  'Faery  Queen,'  and  he  said  he  would  try  to  like  it.    Next 
day  he  brought  it  to  my  study-window,  and  said,  '  Here,  Hunt, 
here  is  your  Spenser  ;  I  cannot  see  any  thing  in  him.'     When 
he  found  Sandy's  Ovid  among  my  books,  he  said,  « God !  what 
an  unpleasant  recollection  I  have  of  this  book  I     I  met  with  it 
on  my  wedding-day ;  I  read  it  while  I  was  waiting  to  ffo  to 
church.'  "—Leigh  Hunt. 

711. 
/"Have  you  seen  my  three  helmets?'  he  inquired  one  day," 
with  an  air  between  hesitation  and  hurry.     Upon  being  an- 
swered  in  the  negative,  he  said  he  would  show  them  me,  and 
began  to  enter  a  room  for  that  purpose;  but  stopped  short,  and 
put  It  off  to  another  time.    These  three  helmets  he  had  got  up 
in  honour  of  his  going  to  war,  and  as  harbingers  to  achieve, 
raent.    They  were  the  proper  classical  shape,  gilt,  and  had  his 
motto— 'Credo  Byron.' "—Leigh  Hunt.      ^'^    ' 

VIII. 
"His  superstition  was  remarkable.    I  do  not  mean  in  th» 
ordinary  sense,  because  he   was    superstitious;  but  because 
u  was  petty  and  old-womanish.  He  believed  in  the  ill  luck  of 
Fridays;  and  was  seriously  disconcerted  if  any  thing  was  to 
be  done  on  that  frightful  day  of  the  week.    Had  he  been  a 
Koman,  he  would  have  started  at  crows,  when  he  made  a  iest 
of  augurs.     He  used  to  tell  a  story  of  somebody's  meeting-  him 
while  m  Italy,  m  St.  James's-street."~ieig-A  HurU. 

IX. 
One  night,  m  the  opera,  while  he  was  in  Italy,  a  gentleman 
appeared  in  one  of  the  lower  boxes,  so  like  Lord  Byron,  that 
he  attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention.     I  saw  him  myself,  and 
was  not  convinced  it  was  not  him  until  I  went  close  to  the 
_....  ...  ^._^,,„  .^.^.  ...„j.  ^  ajicrvvai-us  ascerrainea  liml  the  stranser 

belonged  to  the  Stock  Exchange.— J.  G. 

X. 
On  another  occasion,  during  the  queen's  trial,  it  was  report- 
ed,  Uiat  he  had  arrived  from  abroad,  and  was  seen  entering  tho 


Il«' 


232 


APPENDIX. 


i 

■ 

tP'l^BIJ 

v'f 

■JB^^^H  i 

11  i. », 

9 

House  of  Lords.    A  friend  of  mine  mentioned  the  circumstance 
to  hnn  aaerwards.    "  No  !"  said  he.  "  that  would  hive  beer'"^ 

T        J     «  XI. 

Lord  Byron  said  that  Hunt  had  no  rieht  oerceution  nP  fKo 
a  great  i.po,.„j..    j  rf^f  i-ite'trL^vi  St  LT^i 

ed,  by  which  a  brook  can  be  fancied  a  mighty  riv.r  wTth 
forests  mstend  of  verdure  on  its  banks,  a  niounfai"  c^uW  be 
made  a  mole-  nil,  over  which  we  step.  But  one  ?Xo^vinced 
me  to  the  contrary.  I  found  I  could  elevate  better  thanlcould 
pull  down,  and  I  was  glad  of  il --Leigh  Hunt. 

T  er  X"- 

m  one  of  Lord  Byron's  conversations  with  Doctor  Kennedv 
he  s.ajd  m  speakmg  of  the  liberality  of  the  late  pope^"  I  Hk^e 
his  Hohness  very  much,  particularly  since  an  order,  which  I 
understand  he  has  lately  given,  that  no  more  miracle  ThaU  be 
pe  formed."  In  speaking  of  Mr.  Henry  Drummond  and  Lord 
Calthorpe,  he  mqu.red  whether  the  Doctor  knew  them.  "  No'» 
was  the  answer ;  "except  by  report,  which  points  them  out  as 

iZT^  ^''"'^'^u  P'«^y-"-"I  '^no^  them  ve?y  well,"  Takl  his 
Lordship.     "They  were  not  always  so;  but  they  are  excd 

mLT\^'''  ^^^'^"^P^  "^^  *^«  fi-^  who  clll^;  m^l 
^m  ««' J  7  ""'.  "^lu-  ^'  '"'^"^'  ^*  «^"°^'  f«'-  ^hich  I  gave 
Kmnedy         ^    ^^     ^^  ^'  ^"^'  ^'  ^°^  ^"  ^^  life."-:Dr. 

XIIL 

"Speaking  of  witches,"  said  Lord  Byron  to  Doctor  Kennedv 
"what  think   you  of  the  witch  of  Endor  ?     I  have  Xavs 
thought  this  the  finest  and  most  finished  witch-scenJtha   eve 
was  written  or  conceived ;  and  you  will  be  of  my  opiriion,  if 
you  consider  all  the  circumstances  and  the  actors  in  the  case 
Se     iTL'ea^  n?^'«-P"-ty.-d  dignity  of  the  Ian-' 
guage.     It  beats  all  the  ghost-scenes  I  ever  read.     The  finest 
conception  on  a  similar  anhmff  So  fl.-it  ^p  n<„„iu_,_  j     ■,   t, 
„ui„* u:i 1  ..        , — i '  ■"  '-'"dnc  s  uuvii,  iae- 


phistophiles  ;  and  though,  of 


to  the  fonnpr 

wiU  appear  to  ycu— at"  least  it  does  to'mlZ 


course,  you  will  give  the  priority 


1^    5"'^?''".^ '/®'  ^'*®  ^^"^'■'  ^^yo«  J*"ow  it. 

me-— one  of  the  finest 


aned  the  circumstance 
It  would  have  been  too 
between  mo  and  my 


?ht  perception  of  the 
moral  associations  in 
he  called  a  mountain 
8  visit  to  Italy,  what 
ceived  and  expressed, 
had  seen  mountains, 
the  sky— cold,  lofty, 
itains  would  impress 
'  imagination  re  vers- 
mighty  riv.r,  with 
a  mountain  could  be 
It  one  look  convinced 
e  better  than  I  could 
Hunt. 

ith  Doctor  Kennedy, 
he  late  pope,  ♦'  I  like 
:e  an  order,  which  I 
ore  miracles  shall  be 
)rummond  and  Lord 

knew  them.  "  No !" 
^  points  them  out  as 
very  well,"  said  his 
but  they  are  excel- 

who  called  me  an 
w,  for  which  I  gave 
;  in  his  life." — Dr. 


to  Doctor  Kennedy, 
r?  I  have  always 
'itch-scene  that  ever 
e  of  my  opinion,  if 
5  actors  in  the  case, 
dignity  of  the  Ian- 
sr  read.    The  finest 


APPENDIX. 


233 


CVii,   iTlC- 


'sd 
ill  give  the  priority 
Lter,  if  you  know  it, 
■—one  of  the  finest 


—  «tj 

KiZ°;!  """"^  ;<-"--  or  ,.„„„„  co„oep.i„„..._2,,. 

of  1  he  Mysterious  Bride  iZhlLl      ^^^^-nffton's  tragedy 

pressed  as  a  nun,  who  had  end"  d''"^"--  '  ^'^'"'^  ^"^ 
French  in  Portugal.-"  wLt  .uJ^^?^^^'''''  ^om  the 
came  up  to  his  Lordship  ndnh-n  /^l'  '^'^  Skeffington,  who 
•*  The  Mysterious  bS}^^Tg^       ^"  """'     '^'^^  reply' was° 

XV 

^l^^e'lr^na^^^^^^  r-1  times  involved 

stramed  attachment  to  women^  In  f '"^  ^T^^'  ^y  h'«  ""re- 
'^nnoy^ng,  and  induced  W  Bvron  r^K-H""  ^^^  "^^-^^  very 
faring  It.     A  young  SuHote  of  tb?        *^!"^  °^  ^  '"«*"«  of 
dressed  up  like  a  woman  «nHi    .      ^''''"^   ^^«  accordindv 
thewayoftbeamoSswaTn     ThlTf  ."^  .^^'''  ^''"^^j"  m 
communication,  but  ratJicrby  siJs  tht\*""^'  ""^  ^^^^  «<>">« 
did  not  understand  each  otiL'/f        "  ^^  ^^r^^^'  ^^^  the  pair 
carefully  conducted  by  the  l^  ,Int^"'^''  '^%'^''"^  ^^^y  ^^ 
apartments.     Here  thi  n^.    i^      ^  *°  **"«  of  I^ord  Bvron'« 
S.'Jiote  a  husband  poidTd't  ThT  "'^""'  ^^  ^  «-"/ed 
half  a  dozen  of  his  comradeVwho^P  ''''"'  accompanied  by 

fied  the  poor  lackey  almost  mTt  of  r^^"'"  '^"^  ^^'^^^^  terri- 
course  brought  Lord  By  on  to  the  sn 'f /?''\  ^^'  »°i««  of 
servmg-man,  and  rescue  hfm  from  f  L  ^  ^^^'^^  ^*  *^«  t"«ked 
GahgnanVs  edition.  ™  *^^  ^^^^^s  of  his  terror."— 

flsttftbX^t^^'^VerXt^^^^^^  r  P^-  -  the 
"ff,  we  were  suddenly  aWd  V.  1^  •  **^1'  ^"  *^«  ^^^n- 
the  house,  somewhat  sLilarTo Ib.f  \"T'  ^"^  ^  ^'^^king  of 
fen  the  earthquake  occurred  0?.n  '^  T  ^"^  «^PcrieLd 
places,  and  there  was  the  sat fZ/''  ""  ''"^t"^  ^^""^  their 
evenmg,  at  which  Rvr.^      I       confusion  as  on  the  former 

rately  fU  wer"rerS/bv^r  n^"*'  ^^"^^^^  ^-3:! 
«;ho  e  was  a  method  he  hadadon  .h'/""^  '°°^.  '"*^"t  that  the 
GahgnanVs  edition.       ^^''^'^"Pted  to  sport  with  our  fears."- 


U  fUL 


XVIL 


^''^'f^^^r^J^  fo™ed.  can  be  *■ 

»''or    who  had  been  in  the  El         T^"?  was  a  Greek 

"lands,   where  he  had   marrifd  an   rf  ^      '"  the  Ionian 

^  u   marned  an  Italian  woman.     Thi. 


S34 


APPKNDIX. 


lady  knowing  something  of  tho  military  service,  petitioned 
Lord  Byron  to  uppoint  her  husband  rnastor-tailor  of  the 
brigade.  The  suggestion  wiis  useful,  and  this  purt  of  her  peti- 
tion was  immediately  granted.  At  the  same  time,  however, 
she  solicited  that  she  might  be  permitted  to  raise  a  corps  of 
women  to  be  placed  under  her  orders,  to  accompany  the  re- 
giment. She  stipulated  I'or  free  quarters  and  rations  lor  tiiem, 
but  rejected  all  claim  for  pay.  They  were  to  be  free  of  all 
encumbrances,  and  were  to  wash,  sew,  cook,  and  otherwise 
provide  for  the  men.  The  proposition  pleased  Lord  Byron, 
and  stating  the  matter  to  me,  ho  said  he  hoped  I  should  have 
no  objection.  I  had  been  accustomed  to  see  women  accompany 
the  English  army,  and  I  know  that  though  sometimes  an 
encumbrance,  they  were,  on  the  whole,  more  beneficial  than 
otherwise.  In  Greece  there  were  many  circumstances  which 
would  make  their  services  extremely  valuable,  and  I  gave  my 
consent  to  the  measure.  The  tailor's  wife  did  accordingly  re- 
cruit, a  considerable  number  of  unencumbered  women,  of  al- 
most all  nations,  but  principally  Greeks,  Italians,  Maltese,  and 
negresses.  '  I  was  afraid,'  said  Lord  Byron, '  when  I  mentioned 
this  matter  to  you,  you  would  be  crusty  and  oppose  it — it  is  the 
very  thing.  Let  me  see ;  my  corps  outdoes  FalstafF's.  There 
are  English,  Germans,  French,  Maltese,  Ragusians,  Italians, 
Neapolitans,  Transylvanians,  Russians,  Suliotes,  Moreotes,  and 
Western  Greeks  in  front,  and  to  bring  up  the  rear  the  tailor's 
wife  and  her  troop.  Glorious  Apollo  !  No  general  ever  before 
had  such  an  army.'  " — GalignanVs  edition, 

XVIIL 

"  Lord  Byron  had  a  black  groom  with  him  in  Greece,  an 
American  by  birth,  to  whom  he  was  very  partial.  He  always 
insisted  on  this  man's  calling  him  massa,  whenever  he  spoke 
to  him.  On  one  occasion,  the  groom  met  with  two  women  of 
his  own  complexion,  who  had  been  slaves  to  the  Turks  and 
liberated,  but  had  been  left  almost  to  starve  when  the  Greeks 
had  risen  on  their  tyrant.  Being  of  the  same  colour  was  a 
bond  of  sympathy  between  them  and  the  groom,  and  he  ap- 
plied to  me  to  give  both  these  women  quarters  in  the  serag- 
lio.  I  granted  the  application,  and  mentioned  it  to  Lord  Byron, 
who  laughed  at  the  gallantry  of  his  groom  and  ordered  that  he 
should  be  brought  before  him  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  day,  to 
answer  for  his  presumption  in  making  such  an  application. 
At  ten  o'clock  ?iccordin!Tlv  he  attended  his  mafiter.  with  •rteiil 
trembling  and  fear,  but  stuttered  so  when  he  attempted  to  speak,  I 
that  he  could  not  make  himself  understood.  Lord  Byron,  en- 
4eavoaring  almost  in  vain  to  preserve  his  gravity,  reproved  him 


ry  service,  petitioned 

master-tailor  of   the 

[1  this  part  of  hor  peti- 

saino  time,  Ijowevor, 

d  to  raise  a  cor[)a  of 

to  accompany  the  rc- 

and  rations  ior  ihem, 

were  to  be  free  of  all 

,  cook,  and  otherwiHo 

pleased  Lord  Byron, 

3  hoped  I  should  havti 

oe  women  accompany 

hough   sometimes   an 

,  more  beneficial  than 

circumstances  which 

uahle,  and  I  gave  my 

te  did  accordingly  ro- 

nbcrcd  women,  of  al- 

Italians,  Maltese,  and 

n,  *  when  I  mentioned 

nd  oppose  it — it  is  the 

aes  FalstafF's.    There 

,  Ragusians,  Italians, 

luliotes,  Moreotes,  and 

p  the  rear  the  tailor's 

\o  general  ever  before 

I  ft. 


h  him  in  Greece,  an 
y  partial.  He  always 
m,  whenever  he  spoke 
3t  with  two  women  of 
ves  to  the  Turks  and 
arve  when  the  Greeks 
le  same  colour  was  a 
le  groom,  and  he  ap- 
quarters  in  the  serag- 
oned  it  to  Lord  Byron, 
m  and  ordered  that  he 
lock  the  next  day,  to 
such  an  application. 


APPENDIX. 


285 


iiu    maa 


ioi*     iiTifn 


he  attempted  to  speak, 
K)d.  Lord  Byron,  en- 
gravity,  reproved  him 


'Vvi 

reSnfJ:^  SyTotanTtSr^^^^  ^  ^'-^^^  - 
anger.    His  great  yellow  eves  w,^  ^"^  ''P^^^  '»«  '"""-a's 
head  to  foot,  his  wand  SS  !  mh  "f?'"'  ^''  ^''^''"''""^  from 
dread,  all  tended  to  provokf  lauth ter  7"!^r''?'n^^'  '^'^  ^'«'We 
his  own  dignity  would  be  W?^^      ^  ""''  ^"'"'^  %«■«»  fearinir 
tongue  and^  lisL  to  hL  iXna'^T'''  ''''  ^''"  ''  "^^'^^  ^^^ 
ter  It  m  his  memorandum-book  'nd  tl  ""'^1  '^^'"'"'^"ded  to  en- 
a  solemn  tone  of  voice  whiirRln.i.      "'^  'l*'  pronounced  it  in 
some  severe  punishmenr  ho  f ^n     •  ^  '^"^'^  "S^^'"''^  expecting 
t.on  is,  that  tlie  ehild^^n  Cn  oniZ"Af T  •"  ^>^  ^«^«'"^'"'^^ 
you  nriay  be  the  father,  shall  bo  Jvn      ^'^^  ^°'"'^"'  °^  ^'"ch 
tain  them.  What  say  you  ?  '  Goi^f  f^P"):!^'. '^"^  ^  «''"  ^ain- 
may  you  live  great  ihile,'  stutS^.     "*  ^^""'^  ^'°"'  '"'^««a. 
forth  to  tell  the  good  news  to  t hi  »      *i-^  ^'■•'"'"'  ^"^  rallied 
GalignanVa  edition.  *''^  ^"'^  distressed  women."- 

XIX. 

longZif  may'S^^slX^^^^^^^^^  f^  time,  in  Misso- 

his  superintendent  of  th™  househlir  ?^  "tu^'.  ^'"''^  ^«  ff^^* 

his  own  table.    It  amounts  to  no  ^f  [hi/  '''^^  ^^P^"*^*  ^^ 

*o  "ore  than  one  piastre. 


w7„"g^>«  pound  and  a  half 

Pish        •'.'.'.''' 
Olives     •...'""" 


Paras. 

15. 

7 

15 

3 

40 


XX  ' 

his"b'^LhTa;^so  little  d^Sd'S'so r  T/  ^^"^  ^^  - 
upon  him  at  times  the  ridicule  of  bi?n"''^  •^°'""'  ^'  *»  draw 
at  Dulwieh,  I  think,  tha  fSn  his  f  L?""?!" '°"' '  '^"^  ''  ^«« 

of  an  old  English  baronrover  aM  Zf,  °'>"^^^^^^ 

peerage,  he  got  the  nickL^f  "®  \*^''  creations  of  the 

Wli'h  BaroV' "-Ifcr"^"'  "'"°"ff  ^he  boys,  of 'the  oJd 

XXI 

cla""'^') -    '  •      •'-  wuer,   Wnose    nnmo    «,„»  »  *  "  ^  _  ^ 

o^on^3^n^w1i!j;^l>S^i^;:^  <^^  (wJj^ther  n^hli; 

ever.wasinvain:»***i„orLTs'i/  .  m'  'l^'^^^^^Xw. 

to  punish  the  refractory  s?ave  •  /nH    '^"^'^  5'?'  ^"^^  determined 

"ry  Slave ,  and  proceeded  forthwith  to  pat 


2S6 


APPENDIX. 


w 


(.(  , 


«!. 


this  determination  in  practice  by  inflicting  a  kind  of  basti- 
nado on  tlie  inner  fleshy  side  of  tlic  boy's  arm,  which  diirinff 
the  operation  was  twisted  round  with  some  degree  of  teclmical 
sitill,  to  render  the  pain  more  acute.  While  tlic  stripes  were 
succeeding  each  otiier,  and  poor  Peel  writhing  under  them,  By. 
ron  .saw  and  ielt  for  the  misery  of  his  friend  ;  and  although  he 
knew  that  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  fight  *****  with  any 
hope  of  success,  and  that  it  was  dangerous  even  to  approach 
him,  he  advanced  to  the  scene  of  action,  and  with  a  blush  of 
rage,  tears  m  his  eyes,  and  a  voice  trembling  between  terror 
and  indignation,  asked  very  humbly  if  *****  *  « would  bo 

fJinf^l  ^°  ^^^^  ^^"^  ^°^  ""^"^  stripes  he  meant  to  inflict  ?'— 
'Why,'  returned  the  executioner,  'you  little  rascal,  what  is 
that  to  you  ?'  '  Because,  if  you  please,'  said  Byron,  holding  out 
■his  arm,  '  I  wcild  take  half.'  "—Moore! 

XXII. 

"In  the  autumn  of  1802,  he  passed  a  short  time  with  his 
mother  at  Bath,  and  entered  rather  prematurely  into  some  of 
the  gaieties  of  the  place.  At  a  masquerade,  given  by  Lady 
Kiddel,  he  appeared  in  the  character  of  a  Turkish  boy,  a  sort 
of  anticipation  both  in  beauty  and  costume,  of  his  own  young 
Sehm  in  the  Bride.  On  his  entering  into  the  house,  some  person 
attempted  to  snatch  the  diamond  crescent  from  his  turban,  but 
was  prevented  by  the  prompt  interposition  of  one  of  the  party."— 
Moore.  ^     •' 

XXIII. 

"  You  ask  me   to  recall  some   anecdotes  of  the  time  we 
spent  together  at  Harrowgate,  in  the  summer  of  1806,  on  our 
return  from  college,  he  from  Cambridge,  and  I  from  Edin- 
burgh  ;  but  so  many  years  have  elapsed  since  then,  that  I  really 
feel  myself  as  if  recalling  a  distant  dream.     We,  I  remember, 
went  m  Lord  Byron's  own  carriage  with  post-horses ;  and  he 
sent  his  groom  with  two  saddle-horses,  and  a  beautifully-form-    I 
ed,  very  ferocious  bull-mastifl^  called  Nelson,  to  meet  us  there. 
Boatswain  wont  by  the  side  of  his  valet,  Frank,  on  the  box 
with  us.    The  bull-dog  Nelson  always  wore  a  muzzle,  and  was 
occasionally  sent  for  into  our  private  room,  when  the  muzzle 
was  taken  off  much  to  my  annoyance,  and  he  and  his  master 
amused  themselves  with  throwing  the  room  into  disorder.    I 
1  here  was  always  a  jealous  feud  between  this  Nelson  and    I 
Boatswain,  and  whenever  the  latter  came  into  the  room  while    I 
the  former  was  there,  thev  instantlv  sei/pd  Pnnh  nth^r   nn/l    ■ 
tnen  Byron,  myself,  Frank,  and  all  "the  waiters  that  cou'ld  be 
found,  were  vigorously  engaged  in  parting  them ;  which  was, 
in  general,  only  eflfectcd  by  thrusting  poker  and  tongs  into  the 


;ting  a  kind  of  basti- 
's  arm,  which  during 
Tie  degree  of  teclmical 
iVhile  the  stripes  were 
thing-  under  them,  By- 
end  ;  and  although  he 
grht  *****  with  any 
ous  even  to  approach 
I,  and  with  a  blush  of 
ibling-  between  terror 
******  '  would  be 
3  meant  to  inflict  ?' — 
little  rascal,  what  is 
id  Byron,  holding  out 


^PPEIVDIX. 


237 


.  short  time  with  his 
laturely  into  some  of 
rade,  given  by  Lady 
a  Turkish  boy,  a  sort 
ne,  of  his  own  young 
lie  house,  some  person 
from  his  turban,  but 
of  one  of  the  party." — 


otes  of  the  time  we 
imer  of  1806,  on  our 
3,  and  I  from  Edin- 
ice  tJien,  that  I  really 
I.     We,  I  remember, 
post-horses ;  and  he 
d  a  beautifully-form- 
on,  to  meet  us  there. 
,  Frank,  on  the  box 
•e  a  muzzle,  and  was 
m,  when  the  muzzle 
i  he  and  his  master 
room  into  disorder, 
n  this  Nelson   and 
into  the  room  while 
^ed  each  other,  and 
alters  that  could  be 
■  them ;  wliich  was, 
r  and  tongs  into  the 


o^^p/^^^^^^^  escaped  out 

yard  fastened  upon  the  thToTor^hnr'JT^  '"1°  the  stable- 
not  be  disengaged.  The  stahln  .?        ^•'  ^'""^  ^'"'^h  be  could 
who,  taking%L  ofhis  Lordii  ^'  '^^  '"  '^""'  ^°  ^"^  Frank 
-kept  loaded  in  his  room  shot  ^'^  I  V^"^^""'«  P'^^ols,  always 
ti^o  great  regret  of  ^yTon."!!^^ ''""  "^^^"^'^  the'head'i' 

XXIV 

i^!- to^ghr.  %S^/-e):  which  accompanied 
given  m  the  account  of  his^'eStf''";  t'  ^"^*=^°^««  ^'"-eady 
favourite  -og  Boatswain  whom  he  hi      "^"«^^«te.    Of  his 
and  by  ^yhose  side  it  w^soTce  hisJ     ''"'""'•talized  in  verse, 
«ome  traits  are  told,  indicative  ^Z  '*'^,^'""  P^rpose  to  be  buried 
generosity  of  spirit  wh  cT  mVhf    "'{.  °^.'"*^'^'igence,  but  of  a 
fons  of  such  a  master  as  By^on      o'"  TJ'^'  h""  ^^e  affec 
vour  to  relate,  as  nearly  as  Sble?    ."^  *^''"  '  «h«"  «"dea- 
%ron  had  a  fox-terriei- caK  rr         '  ^""^  ^^''^  *»  ««.    Mrs. 
Boatswain  was  perpetually  at^if^,^^"^  ^^<^^  her  son's  dog 
attacking  and  worrying  hfm  so  viol.nH  "^i^'^-'y  opportunity  of 
apprehended  he  wou  d  kilUh?  ^'?'«"tiy.  that  it  was  very  much 
-nt  off  her  terrier"to  at„t 'Tn     ^"^  ^^^-'  ^^-Xe 
Parture  of  Lord  Byron  for  rnmK  •  ,^^w,«^«d.  and  on  the  de- 
^}th  two  other  doffs  was  inf     ^^'''^^'  ^^  friend  Boatswai^ 

Z  ^'«^PP«arance  of  Boats wdn/n^^    was  much  alarmed  by 
^e  day  he  could  hear  no  Tidin^nVh-^^^^^"'  ^^e  whole  of 
evcnin|r,  the  stray  doff  arriveH  «?         ^''^'  ^'  ^'^st,  towards 
feledTmmediately  toVe  kitoln  ff '"^^"/"'^  ^y  Gilpin,  whom 
^S  upon  him  eveViissiK!      '':^''^^"^him,andlavisT 
was  he  had  been  aS  ZT'^oTe^^lf'ZV'y-    "^^e  fad 
having  now  established  his  Wn.rV^^'''^  to  fetch  him ;  and 
More,  agreed  so  peffectlvw«n-?^u-^°^  ""'^er  the  roof  once 
protected  bin,  ag'ainstlL^eTnlS^o/oth  "!f  ^"^^' '''-'  ^e  even 
ZTl''^t'''^''''''^^^h^m^te^^^^^      ^°^«  (a  task  which 
"nd    f  he  but  heard  Gilnin  1  f  •      ®^  rendered  no  sinecure  ■) 
«ta«tly  to  his  rescue  "I^fc.'"  '"  '^•^*^^^«'  ^"^d  fl;  in- 

XXV  * 

I  ^ded  any  time,  the  most  corSlri?_^^°"lF«  where  h^r:! 
|i-v'=un  wno  knew  him  intimn^^f    rJt""""'  ""«  "ever,' says  a 
jees  of  distress  without  Sdt  J  them''  P'"°^'  ''"^^  -i^^  oh 
rattle  traits  of  this  nature  wS^-/"''*'^"'"-    Among  many 
hlect  the  following,  less  as  a  p^iftf  fa^"'^  ''''^^'  ^«  t*""! 

prooi  ot  His  generosity,  thac  trom 


238 


APPENDIX. 


■im 


tho  interest  which  the  simple  incident  itself,  as  connected  with 
the  name  of  Byron,  presents.  While  yet  a  school-boy,  he  hap 
pcned  to  be  in  a  bookseller's  shop  at  Southwell  when  a  poor 
woman  came  in  to  purchase  a  Bible.  The  price  she  was  told  by 
the  shopman  was  eight  shillings.  *  Ah,  dear  sir  I'  she  exclaun- 
ed,  '  I  cannot  pay  such  a  price  :  I  did  not  thmk  it  would  cost 
half  the  money.'  The  woman  was  then,  with  a  look  of  disap- 
pointment, going  away,  when  young  Byron  called  her  back,  and 
made  her  a  present  of  the  UihlcJ'-Moore. 

XXVI. 
"  In  his  attention  to  his  person  and  dress,  to  the  becoming 
arrangement  of  his  hair,  and  to  whatever  might  best  show  off 
the  beauty  with  which  nature  had  giRed  him,  he  manifested, 
oven  thus  early,  his  anxiety  t^  make  himself  pleasing  to  that 
sex  who  were,  from  first  to  last,  tiie  ruling  stars  of  his  destiny. 
The  fear  of  becoming  what  he  was  naturally  inclined  to  be, 
enormously  fat,  had  induced  him,  from  his  first  entrance^  at 
Cambridge,  to  adopt,  for  the  puri^se  of  reducing  himself,  a 
system  of  violent  exercise  and  abstinence,  together  with  the 
frequent  use  of  warm  baths.  But  the  imbittenng  circumstance 
of  his  life— that  which  haunted  him  like  a  curse,  amidst  the 
buoyancy  of  youth,  and  the  anticipations  of  fame  and  pleasure- 
was,  strange  to  say,  the  trifling  deformity  of  his  foot.  By  tfiat 
one  slight  blemish  (as,  in  his  moments  of  melanch.  'y,  he  per- 
suaded  himself,)  all  the  blessinsrs  that  nature  had  showered 
upon  him  were  counterbalanced.  His  revernul  friend,  Mr. 
Becher,  finding  him  one  day  unusually  dejected,  endeavoured 
to  cheer  and  rouse  him,  by  representing,  n  their  brigtitest 
colours,  all  the  various  advantages  with  wh!,;h  Providence  hau 
endowed  him  ;  and  among  the  greatest,  that  of 'a  mmd  which 
placed  him  above  the  rest  of  mankind.'  '  Ah,  my  dear  friend, 
said  Byron  mournfully,  '  if  this  (laying  his  hand  on  his  fore- 
head)  places  me  above  the  rest  of  mankind,  that  (pointing  to 
his  foot)  places  me  far,  far  below  them.'  "—Moore. 

XXVII. 
.  "His  coming  of  age,  in  1809,  was  celebrated  at  Newstead 
by  such  festivities  as  his  narrow  means  and  society  cou  a 
furnish.  Besides  the  ritual  roasting  of  an  ox,  there  was  a  ball, 
it  seems,  given  on  the  occasion,  of  which  the  only  particular  l 
could  collect  from  the  old  domestic  who  mentioned  it,  was,  tnat 
Mr.  tlanson.  ihe  agent  ui  liei'  iora,  vvas  aiwong  ^"-  "'^''■;.'"; 
Of  Lord  Byron's  own  method  of  commemorating  the  day  1  nna 
the  follow  ing  curious  record  in  a  letter  written  from  Genoa  m 
1822.  '  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  the  day  I  came  of  age  1  dinea 
on  eggs  and  bacon  and  a  butUe  of  ale  ?    For  once  in  a  way 


f,  as  connected  with 
I  school-boy,  he  hap- 
:h\vell  when  a  poor 
jrico  she  was  told  by 
ir  sir  I'  she  exclaim- 
,  think  it  would  cost 
nth  a  look  of  disap- 
called  her  back,  and 


3ss,  to  the  becoming 
might  best  show  oil 
him,  he  manifested, 
self  pleasing  to  that 
stars  of  his  destiny, 
rally  inclined  to  be, 
lis  first  entrance  at 
reducing  himself,  a 
:,  together  with  the 
;tering  circumstance 
a  curse,  amidst  the 
fame  and  pleasure— 
of  his  foot.  By  that 
melancholy,  he  per- 
iture  had  showered 
jvertuii  friend,  Mr. 
3jectcd,  endeavoured 
,  in  their  brightest 
lich  Providence  had 
at  of 'a  mind  which 
Ml,  my  dear  friend,' 
lis  hand  on  his  fore- 
ad,  that  (pointing  to 
—Moore. 

brated  at  Newslead 
I  and  society  could 
ox,  there  was  a  ball, 
he  only  particular  I 
jntioned  it,  was,  that 

Uiinviig    -:;c   u«ii-, 

.rating  the  day  I  find 

itten  from  Genoa  in 

came  of  age  I  dined 

For  once  in  a  way 


APPENDIX. 


239 


they  are  my  favourite  dish  and  drinkable ;  but,  as  neither  of 
them  agree  with  me,  I  never  use  them  but  on  great  jubilees— 
once  in  four  or  five  years  or  so.'  " — Moore. 

XXVIII. 

"At  Smyrna,  Lord  Byron  took  up  his  residence  in  the  house 
of  the  consul-general,  -xnd  remained  there,  with  the  exception 
of  two  or  three  days,  (  mployed  in  a  visit  to  the  ruins  of  Ephe- 
Bus,  till  the  11th  of  April.  It  was  during  this  time,  as  appears 
from  a  memorandum  of  liis  own,  that  the  two  first  canlos  of 
Childe  Harold,  which  he  had  begun  five  months  before,  at 
Joannina,  were  completed.  The  memorandun.  alluded  to, 
which  I  find  prefixed  to  his  original  manuscript  of  the  poem,  is 
as  follows : 

"  Byron,  Joannina  in  Albania,  begun  Oct.  31,  1809;  concluded  Canto 
2d,  Smyrna,  March  28,  1810.  BYRON." 

Moore.^ 

XXIX. 

"In  the  last  edition  of  M.  ^'Israeli's  work  on  •the  literary 
character,'  that  gentleman  has  given  some  curious  marginal 
notes,  which  he  found  written  by  Lord  Byron  m  a  copy  of  this 
work  that  belonged  to  him.  Among  thew  is  he  following 
enumeration  of  the  writers  that,  besid<  ycaut,  have  drawn 
his  attention  so  early  to  the  east: 

" ' KnoUes,  Caritemir,  De  Tott,  L«i(ly  M.  W.  Montague, 
Hawkin's  translation  from  Mignot's  History  of  the  Turks,  the 
Arabian  IS^ights,  all  travels,  or  histories,  or  books  upon  the  east 
I  could  meet  with,  I  had  read,  a^  well  as  Rycaut,  before  I  was 
ten  years  old.  I  think  the  Arabian  Nights  first.  After  these 
I  preferred  the  history  of  naval  actions,  Don  Quixotte,  and 
Smollet's  novels,  particula  ly  Roderick  Random,  and  I  was 
passionate  for  the  Roman  history.  When  a  boy,  I  could  never 
bear  to  read  any  poetry  without  disgust  and  reluctance.' " — 
Moore. 

XXX. 

"  During  Lord  Byron's  administration,  a  ballet  was  invented 
by  the  elder  Byrne,  in  which  Miss  Smith  (since  Mrs.  Oscar 
Byrne)  had  a  pas  seul.  This  the  lady  wished  to  remove  to  a 
later  period  in  the  ballet.  The  ballet-master  refused,  and  the 
lady  swore  she  would  not  dance  it  at  all.  The  music  incidental 
to  the  dance  began  to  play,  and  the  lady  walked  off  the  stage. 
Both  parties  flounced  into  the  green-room,  to  lay  Oie  case 
before  Lord  Byron,  who  happened  to  be  the  only  person  in  that 
apartment.  The  noble  committee-man  made  an  award  in 
favour  of  Miss  Smith,  and  bofh  complainants  rushed  angrily 
out  of  the  room  at  the  instant  of  my  entering  it.    •  If  you  had 


240 


APPENDIX. 


come  a  minute  sooner,'  said  Lord  Byron,  'you  would  have 
heard  a  curious  matter  decided  on  by  me  :  a  question  of  danc> 
ing !  by  me,'  added  he,  looking  down  at  the  lame  limb,  ♦  whom 
nature,  from  my  birth,  has  prohibited  from  taking  a  single 
step.'  His  countenance  fell  after  he  had  uttered  this,  as  if  he 
had  said  too  much  ;  and  for  a  moment  there  was  an  embarrass- 
ing silence  on  both  sides." — Moore. 

XXXI. 

The  following  account  of  Lord  Byron,  at  Milan,  before  he 
fixed  his  residence  at  Venice,  is  interesting.  It  is  extracted 
from  The  Foreign  Literary  Gazette,  a  periodical  work  which 
was  prematurely  abandoned,  and  is  translated  from  the  French 
of  M.  Stendhal,  a  gentleman  of  literary  celebrity  in  France, 
but  whose  works  are  not  much  known  in  this  countiy. 

"  In  1817,  a  few  young  people  met  every  evening  at  the 
Theatre  de  la  Scala,  at  Milan,  in  the  box  of  Monsignor  Ludovic 
de  Br6me,  formerly  chief  almoner  of  the  ex-king  of  Italy. 
This  Italian  custom,  not  generally  followed  in  France,  banished 
all  ceremony.  The  affectation  that  chills  the  atmosphere  of  a 
French  saloon  is  unknown  in  the  society  of  Milan.  How  is  it 
possible  that  such  a  sentiment  can  find  a  place  amongst  in- 
dividuals  in  the  habit  of  seeing  each  other  above  three  hundred 
times  in  the  course  of  a  twelvemonth  ?  One  evening,  a  stranger 
made  his  appearance  in  Monsignor  de  Br6:ne's  box.  He  was 
young,  of  middling  stature,  and  with  remarkably  fine  eyes. 
As  he  advanced,  we  observed  that  he  limped  a  little.  ♦  Gentle- 
men,' said  Monsignor  de  Br^me,  •  this  is  Lord  Byyon.'  We 
were  afterwards  presented  to  his  Lordship,  the  whole  scene 
passing  with  as  much  ceremonious  gravity,  as  if  our  introducer 
had  been  De  Brume's  grandfather,  in  days  of  yore  ambassador 
from  the  Duke  of  Savoy  to  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.  Aware  of 
the  character  of  the  English,  who  generally  avoid  such  as 
appear  to  court  their  society,  we  cautiously  abstained  from  con- 
versing  with,  or  even  looking  at.  Lord  Byron.  The  latter  had 
been  informed,  that  in  the  course  of  the  evening  he  would  pro- 
bably  be  introduced  to  a  stranger  who  had  performed  the  cele- 
brated campaign  of  Moscow,  which  still  possessed  the  charm 
of  novelty,  as  at  that  time  we  had  not  been  spoiled  by  any 
romances  on  the  subject.  A  fine-looking  man,  with  a  military 
appearance,  happening  to  be  of  our  party,  his  Lordship  naturally 
concluded  that  he  was  the  hero ;  and  accordingly,  in  addressing 

manner.  The  next  day,  however,  Byron  was  undeceived. 
Changing  his  battery,  he  did  me  the  honour  to  address  me 
on  the  subject  of  Russia.  I  idolized  Napoleon,  and  replied  to 
his  Lordship  as  I  should  have  done  to  a  member  of  the  legiala- 


on,  « you  would  have 
:  a  question  of  danc- 

he  lame  limb,  '  whom 

from  taking  a  single 
uttered  this,  as  if  he 

;re  was  an  embarrass. 


1,  at  Milan,  before  he 
ting.  It  is  extracted 
eriodical  work  which 
lated  from  the  French 

celebrity  in  France, 
[  this  countiy. 
every  evening  at  the 
)f  Monsignor  Ludovic 
the  ex-king  of  Italy, 
id  in  France,  banished 
s  the  atmosphere  of  a 

of  Milan.  How  is  it 
I  a  place  amongst  in. 
ir  above  three  hundred 
ne  evening,  a  stranger 
Jrine's  box.  He  was 
•emarkably  fine  eyes. 
ped  a  little.  '  Gentle, 
is  Lord  Byron.'  We 
ihip,  the  whole  scene 
ty,  as  if  our  introducer 
ys  of  yore  ambassador 
louis  XIV.  Aware  of 
lerally  avoid  such  as 
ly  abstained  from  con- 
yron.  The  latter  had 
evening  he  would  pro- 
id  performed  the  cele- 
i  possessed  the  charm 

been  spoiled  by  any 
T  man,  with  a  military 
his  Lordship  naturally 
trdingly,  in  addressing 


APPB7WJX, 


241 


us     SJi 


Ton  was  undeceived, 
lonour  to  address  me 
poleon,  and  replied  to 
member  of  the  legisla- 


X^rfcterlli^^^^^^^^^  I 

tic  in  favour  of  Seon  in  •  ?y'*^"?^?!  ^tonce  enthusias- 
to  say,  « Napoteon  Jnd  mV  "ff  fr^  "^  Y'  ■^^'^''  ^'  "««d 
Bign  our  na^es  with  thSals  N  B'°"r^^  "^i^'"^'  ^*»« 
determination  to  be  cold  offprl  «„  ,    ^^.^^  ^y^""')    My 

kindness  with  which,  at  'he  end  of??^''^*'^",^"'  '^'  "^"^^^d 
me  the  favour  to  regard  ml  n  /•  ^^Y  ^-^^^^  ^'"^  ^^on  did 
that  the  discueln  ihth  hkd?aken  nl"^'  '"  '^'  ^^  '^'^ined, 
polite  and  respectful  oTmy  part  had  h-°'  """li  '  '^°"«^ 

prevent  all  further  intimacy  Reen  1  Th'^^^  ^""".'  ^^"^^ 
The  next  evening,  his  LorH,M^T T  ,.  ^^  ^®'"®  mi8t*ken. 
with  me  for  an  h^our  in  thf «  ?i!^^  T^^t  ^'"^^  ^"^  ^^^^ed 
I  was  gratified  wkh  ZrlvT  °/  ^^^  ^^^""^'^  ^e  la  Scala. 
was  indebted  to  hsdeirnf^''''  ^-^  ""^''^^  ^*  ^^^  ^^^^^  I 

the  subject  of  th:R::z"l:zzT' m^e  ^^  ti^^^^  °" 

questioned  me  on  this  ooint     ??^  ^^^"^  *''°^®'3^  ^ross- 

Childe  Harold  made  amSVor^TX;"  '''°"*^  ^^"1^°?  ^^ 
graces  of  mv  Italian  ft  «n5!     u         **"  progress  m  the  good 

thit  his  LordshTp,  ot  ^venin.  bl'Yt'-.  J  •""'*  «>"^«««. 
idea~that,inadiscuLor3hi^T^*1j^^^  "■  ^^himsical 
added  weight  to  M^ oiron  On  r/  ^''"  ''^''''^^  ^''' *'«« 
retorted  with  the  will  ZT  .  ^^^^  occasion,  De  Br6me 

who,  shocked  at  Thi  H  ?  ""  ^"^'*^°*^  ^'^  ^"^^al  de  Castries! 
judgment  exclaL^d  •  f  ore^^  T'"  ""^^  ^  D'AlemberS 
worfh  thrLe  thousand  ffanCl^  IT^/,  ^^-^^^ ''  ^  ^^"ow  »«' 
Lord  Byron  afford  J.l  '^    "^ '     ^'^  another  eveninff. 

with  vXch  he  denfed  aS  reChf  *°  '^'"''^'^  ''^  '^'  ^^'^^ 
ter  and  that  of  Jea„  Ja/ue?Rn ,'"''  ^/""T  ^''  ownc:mrac- 
compared.  His  prfncioal  oh,W>?''?":u*°  ^^""^  ^'^  ^^^  ^^^^ 
he  would  not  acCwlSge  ^e  ^^  ZT""'  ^T^ 

been  a  servant  and  fhn  .Z    c  '  T^^^'  *"^^  Rousseau  had 

avoid  a  heLty  kugh  ;^^^^^^  ^J  a  watchmaker.  We  could  not 
Byron  re^i^JT^t^irtJ^^^^^  ^[^'^•"ent. 

nobility  of  Turin  some  InfL     r      °  ^-^  *"'^*^  *°  t^*  o^est 

ie«  CTon/e^S.)  Lord  Cnn''"^  ^^^  ^"'""^"^  "''«'^-  ^^ee 
iiorror  of  eorpScv     Hif^  ?  "f^^^"  entertained  a  great 

might  be  calKSd  iS^    TtL^  •'  ^""  '^^^'^  ''^  W 

who  trjiveiied  with  lZ:1^^\^tf^^l^y:!:^.^y^^^ 

«f  augmenting  thTbulkThi-n^^'  ^^P^^^^^d  a  constant  dread 
fooTS  much  afLsSle  an/?7'^  man,  concealed  his  right 
agreeable  in  LS^  if"**  ^J-^^'^^o^red  to  render  him«lf 

in  renmlo  society.     His  vanity,  however,  frequently  "7 


Mil 


!f 


Op 


242 


APPENDIX. 


induced  him  to  lose  sight  of  the  end,  in  his  attention  to  the 
means.    Love  was  sacrificed ;— an  affair  of  the  heart  would 
have  interfered  with  hia  daily  exercise  on  horseback.    At  Milan 
and  Venice,  his  fine  eyes,  his  handsome  horses,  and  his  fame, 
gained  him  the  smiles  of  several  young,  noble,  and  lovely 
females,  one  of  whom,  in  particular,  performed  a  journey  of 
more  than  a  hundred  miles  for  the  pleasure  of  being  present  at 
a  masked  ball  to  which  his  Lordship  was  invited.    Byron  was 
apprized  of  the  circumstance,  but,  either  from  hauteur  or 
shyness,  declined  an  introduction.     'Your  poets  are  perfect 
clowns,'  cried  the  fair  one,  as  she  indignantly  quitted  the  ball- 
room.    Had  Byron  $ucceeded  in  his  pretensions  to  bo  thought 
the  finest  man  in  England,  and  had  his  claims  to  the  fashion- 
able supremacy  been  at  the  same  time  disputed,  he  wouM  still 
have  been  unsatisfied.     In  his  moments  of  dandyism,  he  a.lways 
pronounced  the  name  of  Brummel  with  a  mingled  emotion  of 
respect  and  jealously.    When  his  personal  attractions  were  not 
the  subject  of  his  consideration,  his  noble  birth  was  uppermost 
ja  his  thoughts.    At  Milan  we  often  purposely  discussed  in  his 
presence  the  question,  'if  Henry  IV.  could  justly  pretend  to 
the  attribute  of  clemency,  after  having  ordered  his  old  com- 
panion,  the  Duke  de  Biron,  to  be  beheaded  ?'    '  Napoleon  would 
have  acted  differently,'  was  his  Lordship*s  constant  reply.    It 
was  ludicrous  to  observe  his  respect  wavering  undecided  be- 
tween acquired  distinctif    and  his  own  nobility,  which  he  con- 
sidered far  above  that  of  the  Duke  de  Biron.    When  the  pride 
of  birth  and  personal  vanity  no  longer  usurped  uridue  sway 
over  his  mind,  he  again  became  the  sublime  poet  and  the  man 
of  senso.    Never,  after  the  example  of  Madame  de  Stael,  did 
he  indulge  in  the  childish  vanity  of  '  turning  a  phrase.'  When 
literary  subjects  were  introduced,  Byron  was  exactly  the  reverse 
of  en  academician  ;  his  thoughts  flowed  with  greater  rapidity 
than  his  words,  and  his  expressions  were  free  from  all  affecta- 
tion  or  studied  grace.    Towards  midnight,  particularly  when 
the  music  of  the  opera  had  produced  an  impression  on  his  feel- 
ings, instead  of  describing  them  with  a   view  to  effect,  he 
yielded  naturally  to  his  emotions,  as  though  he  had  all  his  life 
been  an  inliabitant  of  the  south." 

After  quoting  a  passage  from  Moore's  recently  published 
Life  of  Byron,  m  which  the  poet  obscurely  alludes  fx)  his  re- 
morse for  some  unexplained  crime,  real  or  imaginary,  Mr. 
btendhal  thus  proceeds : 

"Is  it  possible  that  Byron  might  have  had  some  guilty  stain 
upon  his  conscience,  similar  to  that  which  wrecked  Othello's 
fame  ?  Such  a  question  can  no  longer  be  injurious  but  to  hin» 
who  h«8  given  it  birth.    It  must  be  admitted,  that  during  near- 


his  attention  to  the 

of  the  heart  would 
orseback.  At  Milan 
borses,  and  his  fame,. 
g,  noble,  and  lovely 
brmed  a  journey  of 
e  of  beinsr  present  at 
invited.  Byron  was 
er  from  hauteur  or 
•ur  poets  are  perfect 
mtly  quitted  the  ball- 
nsions  to  bo  thought 
;laims  to  the  fashion- 
jputed,  he  would  still 
'dandyism,  he  always 

mingled  emotion  of 
1  attractions  were  not 

birth  was  uppermost 
►osely  discussed  in  his 
uld  justly  pretend  to 
ordered  his  old  com- 
V  *  Napoleon  would 
*s  constant  reply.  It 
Bering  undecided  be- 
obility,  which  he  con- 
•on.  When  the  pride 
usurped  uridue  sway 
me  poet  and  the  man 
Hadame  de  Stael,  did 
ing  a  phrase.'  When 
'as  exactly  the  reverse 
with  greater  rapidity 
I  free  from  all  affecta- 
ht,  particularly  when 
mpression  on  his  feel- 
i  view  to  effect,  he 
igb  he  had  all  his  life 

's  recently  published 
ely  alludes  tq  his  re- 
il  or  imaginary,  Mr. 

had  some  guilty  sta:in 
ch  wrecked  Othello's 
B  injurious  but  to  him 
tted,  that  during  near' 


APPEWDIX. 


243 


ly  a  Oiir^  of  the  time  we  passed  in  the  poet's  society,  he  ap. 
pearcd  to  ps  like  one  labouring  under  an  excess  of  folly,  often 
approachmg  to  madness.    'Can  it  be,'  have  we  sometimes  ex- 
claimed, '  that  in  a  frenzy  of  pride  or  jealousy  he  has  shortened 
the  days  of  some  fair  Grecian  slave,  faithless  to  her  vows  of 
love  ?'    Be  f  his  as  it  may,  a  great  man  once  known,  may  be  said 
to  have  opened  an  account  with  posterity.    If  Byron  played  the 
part  of  Othello,  hundreds  of  witnesses  will  be  found  to  bear 
testimony  to  the  damning  deed;  and  sooner  or  later  posterity 
mil  learn  whether  his  remorse  was  founded  in  guilt,  or  in  the 
affectation  of  which  he  has  so  frequently  been  accused.    After 
all,  is  it  not  possible  that  his  conscience  might  have  exaggerated 
some  youthful  error  ?  *****  One  evening,  amongst  others,  the 
conversation  turned  upon  a  handsome  Milanese  female,  who 
had  eagerly  desired  to  venture  i    r  person  in  single  combat 
with  a  lover  by  whom  shei  '■■■-■■     len  abandoned :  the  discussion 
afterwards  clianged  to  th:.  ^io^v  of  a  prince  who  in  cold  blood 
had  murdered  his  mistress  lor  an  act  of  infidelity.     Byron  was 
instantly  silent,  endeavoured  to  restrain  iiis  feelings,  but,  un- 
equal to  the  effort,  soon  afterwards  indignantly  quitted  the  box. 
His  indignation  on  this  occasion  was  evidently  directed  against 
the  subject  of  the  anecdote,  and  in  our  eyes  absolved  himself 
from  the  suspicion  of  a  similar  offence.    Whatever  might  be 
the  crime  of  which  Byron  apparently  stood  self-eccused,  I  may 
compare  it  to  the  robbery  of  a  piece  of  riband,  committed  by 
Jean  Jaques  Rousseau  during  his  stay  at  Turin    After  the  lapse 
of  a  few  weeks,  Byron  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  taste  for  the 
society  of  Milan.    When  the  performances  for  the  evening  were 
over,  we  frequently  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  theatre  to  enjoy 
the  s'ght  of  the  beauties  who  passed  us  in  review.    Perhaps  few 
cities  could  boast  such  an  assemblage  of  lovely  women  as  that 
which  chance  had  collected  at  Milan  in  1817.    Many  of  them 
had  flattered  themselves  with  the  idea  that  Byron  would  seek 
an  introduction ;  but  whether  from  prideJ,  timidity,  or  a  remnant 
of  dandyism,  which  induced  him  to  do  exactly  the  contrary  of 
what  was  expected,  he  invariably  declined  that  honour.    He 
seemed  to  prefer  a  conversation  on  poetical  or  philosophical 
subjects.     At  the  theatrt,  our  discussions  were  frequently  so 
energetical  as  to  rouse  the  indignation  of  the  pit.  One  evening, 
in  the  middle  of  a  philosophical  argument  on  the  principle  of 
utility,  Silvio  Pellico,  a  delightful  poet,  who  has  since  died  in 
=n  ^.-lustfjan  prison,  came  in  fareathiess  imatts  io  apprize  Lord 
Byron  that  his  friend  and  physician,  Polidori,  had  been  arrested, 
vve  instantly  ran  to  the  guard-house.    It  turned  out,  that  Poli- 
dori had  fancied  himself  incommoded  in  the  pit  by  the  fur  cap 
of  the  officer  on  guard,  and  had  requested  him  to  take  it  off, 


i 

h 


Itl 


]i  ! 


11  I 


ill; 


|, 


244 


APPENDIX. 


t 


lii: 


alleging  that  it  impeded  his  view  of  the  stage.    The  poet  Motifi 
had  accompanied  us,  and,  to  the  number  of  fifteen  or  twenty, 
we  surrounded  the  prisoner.    Every  one  spoke  ac  once ;  Polidori 
was  beside  himself  with  passion,  and  his  face  red  as  a  burning 
coal.    Byron,  though  he  too  was  in  a  violent  rage,  a  as,  on  the 
contrary,  pale  as  ashes.    His  patrician  blood  boiled  as  he  re- 
flected on  the  slight  consideration  in  which  he  was  held.    I 
have  little  doubt  but  at  that  moment  he  regretted  the  wall  of 
separation  which  he  had  reared  between  himself  and  the  ultra 
party.    At  all  events,  the  Austrian  officer  spied  the  leaven  of 
sedition  in  our  countenances,  and,  if  he  was  versed  in  history, 
probably  thought  of  the  insurrection  of  Genoa,  in  1740.     Ho 
ran  from  the  guard-house  to  call  his  men,  who  seized  their 
arms  that  had  been  piled  on  the  outside.    Monti's  idea  was 
excellent ;  '  Fdrtiamo  tutti ;  restino  solamente  i  titolati.''*  .  De 
Brfime  remained,  with  the  Marquis  de  Sartirana,  his  brother, 
Count  Confalonieri,  and  Lord  Byron.  These  gentlemen  having 
written  their  names  and  titles,  the  list  was  handed  to  the  officer 
on  guard,  who  instantly  forgot  the  insult  offiared  to  his  fur  cap, 
and  allowed  Polidori  to  leave  the  guard-house.    In  the  evening, 
however,  the  doctor  received  an  order  to  quit  Milan  within 
twenty-four  hours.    Foaming  with  rage,  he  swore  that  he 
would  one  day  return  and  bestow  manual  castigation  on  the 
governor  who  had  treated  him  with  so  little  respect.    He  did 
not  return ;  and  two  years  afterwards  a  bottle  of  prussic  acid 
terminated  his  career ; — at  least,  sic  dicitur.    The  morning 
after  Polidori's  departure,  Byron,  in  a  t?,te-a-lite  with  nie,  com- 
plained  bitterly  of  persecution.    So  little  was  I  acquainted  with 
i  titolati,  to  use  Monti's  expression,  that  in  the  simplicity  of 
my  heart  I  gave  his  Lordship  the  following  counsel : — '  Real- 
ize,' said  I, '  four  or  five  hundred  thousand  francs ;  two  or  three 
confidential  friends  will  circulate  the  report  of  your  death,  and 
bestow  on  a  log  of  wood  the  honours  of  Christian  burial  in  some 
snug  retired  spot — the  island  of  Elba,  suppose.    An  authentic 
account  of  your  decease  shall  be  forwarded  to  England  ;  mean- 
while, under  the  name  of  Smith  or  Wood,  you  may  live  com- 
fortly  and  quietly  at  Lima.    When,  in  process  of  time,  Mr. 
Smith  or  Mr.  Wood  becomes  a  venerable  gray-headed  old  gen- 
tleman, he  may  even  return  to  Europe,  and  purchase  from  a 
Roman  or  Parisian  bookseller,  a  set  of  Childe  Harold,  or  Lara, 
thirtieth  edition,  with  notes  and  annotations.    Moreover,  when 
Mr.  Smith  ot  Mr.  Wood  is  reaiiy  about  to  make  his  exit  from 
this  life,  he  may,  if  he  pleases,  enjoy  one  bright  original  mo- 
ment :  thus  may  he  say ; — '  Lord  Byron,  who  for  thirty  years, 

*  Let  us  all  go  oat ;  let  those  only  remain  who  are  titled  parsonages, 


APPENDIX. 


245 


if: 


Lge.  The  poet  M otiti 
of  fifteen  or  twenty, 
x)ke  ac  once ;  Polidori 
!ace  red  as  a  burning 
ent  rage,  <\  as,  on  the 
ood  boiled  as  he  re- 
lich  he  was  held.  I 
regretted  the  wall  of 
himself  and  the  ultra 
r  spied  the  leaven  of 
iras  versed  in  history, 
Genoa,  in  1740.  Ho 
en,  who  seized  their 
!.  Monti's  idea  was 
ente  i  titolatu'"'^  De 
artirana,  his  brother, 
3se  gentlemen  having 
5  handed  to  the  officer 
offered  to  his  fur  cap, 
ise.  In  the  evening, 
o  quit  Milan  within 
5,  he  swore  that  he 
al  castigation  on  the 
ttle  respect.  He  did 
bottle  of  prussic  acid 
citur.  The  morning 
'■a-Ute  with  me,  com- 
vas  I  acquainted  with 
in  the  simplicity  of 
mg  counsel : — '  Real- 
d  francs ;  two  or  three 
jrt  of  your  death,  and 
risti.m  burial  in  some 
ppose.  An  authentic 
id  to  England  ;  mean- 
J,  you  may  live  corn- 
process  of  time,  Mr. 
gray-headed  old  gen- 
and  purchase  from  a 
hilde  Harold,  or  Lara, 
►ns.  Moreover,  when 
9  make  his  exit  from 
B  bright  original  mo- 
who  for  thirty  years, 

>  are  titled  parsonaget, 


has  been  numbered  wUh  the  dead,  even  now  lingers  on  this 
Bide  of  eternity  :~I  am  the  man :  the  society  of  my  country! 

' Tv  117"^  !r  "'  r  '""P'^'  *^^*  '  quitted^them  i^n  Z^clt? 
My  cousin  who  is  heir  to  my  title,  owes  you  an  in«initvr  of 

whth''h'^^^^'''P"'*^  ^''^  ^^^°"-  1"  repressed  the  re^Zrtee 
which  hovered  on  my  lips.  Byron  had  T  defect  in  cornmon 
with  all  the  .polled  children  of  fortune.  He  cherished  nh°s 
^som  two  contradictory  inclinations.  He  wished  to  be  received 
as  a  man  of  rank,  and  admired  as  a  brilliant  Poet.  The  Elena 
af  mZ'  Th'*  '  m*  '™'.  *^'^  P-rfi'^^ance  most  in  vogue  at 
for  fhi  nil  public  patiently  endured  two  miserable  acts, 

dav  whlT'^  ""^  '''^""?u^  '"^""'^  '''''''  '«  *1^«  third.  One 
day,  when  It  was  sung  with  mon,  Uian  ordinary  power,  I  wu8 

any  thing  so  enthusiastic.  Internally,  I  made  a  vow  that  I 
never  would  of  my  own  free  accord  Lden  a  sprrils"  noble: 
In  the  evening,  I  recollect  that  som.e  one  alluded  to  the  follow- 

ScSmy"""''  °'  '^""'  "  ^^'^^-^  *^^  ^''  makes  fiZt 

'  Odi,  Filli,  Che  tuona 

Ma  Che  cuiar  dobbiam  Che  fcccia  Giove? 
Godiam  noi  qui,  s'egli  e  turbato  in  cielo 
Tema  in  volgo  i  suoi  fuoini.... 
Pera  il  niondo,  e  rovini !  a  me  non  cale 
Se  non  di  quel  che  pin  piace  ediietta ; 
cue,  se  terra  saro,  terra  ancor  fui.' 

Hear'st  thou,  Phyllis,  it  thunders? 

But  what  are  Jove's  acts  to  us  ? 

Let  us  enjoy  ourselves  here ;  if  he  be  troubled  in  his  heaven 

Vulgar  spirits  may  dread  his  thunder.      "'^^  "»  ""  "e^ven. 

Let  the  world  perish  and  fall  in  ruins :  I  care  not 

Except  for  her  who  pleases  me  best ;  ' 

For  if  dust  I  shall  be,  dust  I  was. 

fluenPn'/  T'^''^  'iu-  ^^'■°"'  *^"^°  ^"«en  under  the  in. 
fluence  of  spleen-nothmg  more.    A  belief  in  the  Supreme 

Snatirnf  T  ^^^«l"^^"^««-ity  for  the  tender  and  warm^ma! 

fo^Zrff      T   .i"",-'^''''  ^''^''^  *°«  "^"^h  of  a  Platonist 
to  connect  together  the  links  of  a  difficult  argument.    When 

he  composed  that  sonnet,  he  felt  the  inspiration  of  his  genias, 
and  probably  wanted  a  morsel  of  bread  and  a  mistress.'  The 
house  in  which  Lord  Byron  resided  was  situated  at  the  farther 
from  S,^  ^-^i  solitary  quarter,  at  the  distance  of  half  a  league 
IlT.t"  V'^'i^'P  .^"^  ^^  S'^J'^-  The  streets  of  Milan  were  at 
,  ,^  ...  in;estoa  With  robbers  during  the  night.  Some 
of  ufl  forgetting  time  and  space  in  the  charm  of  the  poet's  con- 
versation,  generally  accompanied  him  to  his  own  door,  and  on 
Tn.?  r"'  ^^  ^r°  ^^^'^'ik.'"  the  morning,  were  obliged  to  paso 
through  a  multitude  of  intricate,  suiiptcious-lookinff  street.. 


!lii:  i, 


w  I 


'  .  3 


1346 


APPENDIX, 


I 


This  circumstance  gave  an  additional  lur  of  romance  to  the 
noble  bard's  retreat.    For  my  part,  I  often  wondered  that  he 
escaped  being  laid  under  contribution.   Had  it  been  otherwise, 
with  his  feelings  and  ideas,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  felt 
peculiarly  mortified.     The  fact  is,  that  the  practical  jokes 
played  off  by  the  knights  of  the  road  were  frequently  of  the 
most  ludicrous  description — at  least  to  all  but  the  sufferers. 
The  weather  was  cold,  and  the  pedestrian,  snugly  enveloped  in 
his  cloak,  was  often  attacked  by  some  dexterous  thief,  who, 
gliding  gently  behind  him,  passed  a  hoop  over  his  head  down 
to  his  elbows,  and  thus  fettered  the  victim,  whom  he  afterwards 
pillaged  at  his  leisure.    Polidori  informed  us  that  Byron  often 
composed  a  hundred  verses  in  the  course  of  the  morning.    On 
his  return  from  the  theatre  in  the  evening,  still  under  the  charm 
of  the  music  to  which  he  had  listened,  he  would  take  up  his 
papers,  and  reduce  his  hundred  verses  to  five-and-twenty  or 
thirty.    When  he  had  in  this  manner  put  together  four  or  five 
hundred,  he  sent  the  whole  to  Murray,  his  publisher,  in  Lon- 
don.   He  often  sat  up  all  night,  in  the  ardour  of  composition, 
and  drank  a  sort  of  grog  made  of  hoUands  and  water — a  beve- 
rage in  which  he  indulged  rather  copiously  when  his  Muse  was 
coy.     But,  generally  speaking,  he  was  not  addicted  to  exces- 
sive drinking,  though  he  has  accused  himself  of  that  vice.    To 
restrain  the  circumference  of  his  person  vsrithin  proper  limits, 
he  frequently  went  without  a  dinner,  or,  at  most,  dined  on  a 
little  bread  and  a  solitary  dish  of  vegetables.  This  frugal  meal 
cost  but  a  frank  or  two;  and  on  such  occasions  Byron  used, 
with  much  apparent  complacency,  to  accuse  himself  of  avarice. 
His  extreme  sensibility  to  the  charms  of  music  may  portly  be 
attributed  to  the  chagrin  occasioned  by  his  domestic  misfor- 
tunes.    Music  caused  his  tears  to  flow  in  abundance,  and  thus 
softened  the  asperity  of  his  suffering.    His  feelings,  however, 
on  this  subject,  were  those  of  a  d  butantt.  When  he  had  heard 
a.new  opera  for  upwards  of  a  twelvemonth,  he  was  often  en- 
iraptured  with  a  composition  which  had  previously  afforded  him 
little  pleasure,  or  which  he  had  even  severely  criticised.    I 
never  observed  Byron  in  a  more  delightful  or  unaffected  vein 
■of  gaiety  than  on  the  day  when  we  made  an  excursion  about 
two  miles  from  Milan,  to  visit  the  celebrated  echo  of  la  Simo- 
netta,  which  repeats  the  report  of  a  pistol-shot  thirty  or  forty 
times.    By  way  of  contrast,  the  next  day,  at  a  grand  dinner 
giren  by  ?TlonsigiiOf  do  Bfcmc,  his  appearance  was  iowcring 
as  that  of  Talma  in  the  part  of  Nero.    Byron  arrived  late,  and 
was  obliged  to  cross  a  spacious  saloon,  in  which  every  eye  was 
flxed  on  him  and  his  club  foot.    Far  from  being  the  indifferent 
or  phlejrmatic  personage,  who  alone  can  play  the  dandy  to  per 


of  romance  to  the 
n  wondered  that  he 
d  it  been  otherwise, 
doubtcdly  have  felt 
the  practical  jokes 
«  frequently  of  the 
.1  but  the  sufferers, 
snugly  enveloped  in 
jxterous  thief,  who, 
over  his  head  down 
whom  he  aflerwards 
us  that  Byron  often 
f  the  morning.  On 
tiil  under  the  charm 
e  would  take  up  his 
J  five-and-twenty  or 
together  four  or  live 
s  publisher,  in  Lon- 
iour  of  composition, 
and  water — a  beve- 
when  his  Muse  was 
Bt  addicted  to  exces- 
elf  of  that  vice.  To 
Bpithin  proper  limits, 

at  most,  dined  on  a 
5S.  This  frugal  meal 
:asions  Byron  used, 
le  himself  of  avarice, 
tiusic  may  partly  be 
lis  domestic  misfor- 
ibundance,  and  thus 
is  feelings,  however. 
When  he  had  heard 
ith,  he  was  often  en- 
iviously  afforded  him 
verely  criticised.  I 
il  or  unaffected  vein 

an  excursion  about 
ted  echo  of  la  Simo- 
(l-shot  thirty  or  forty 
jr,  at  a  grand  dinner 
arancc  was  lowering 
ron  arrived  late,  and 
which  every  eye  was 
being  the  indifferent 
lay  the  dandy  to  per 


APPENDIX. 

s  rv:?XnrBt"Hr '""^' "^'°^  ™^^  «^^ 

were  8hake/„ff  .fa  .arieitS'"  ""St'""!''"''''' ''"  ^If 
flight  of  hi,  imaglnaS;    ,ho1^.T    ^^  '"?™n>«led  th. 

l"Yt^th::£j^D 

that  judgmef  t  Tthis  „a  u^^^^  ^*'  ''?rJ  "«^  *«  b«^ware^ 

of  affectation  and  that^hpT  ^.^^"^'•^"y  ^^^^tated  by  a  spirit 

certificates  of  resemlntr  *T^*'^'  '""  °"^^  ^«  ^'"^^^ 
tonishing  effecSucpd  on  T   "!"?  "°*  T'*  ^°  ""^'^^^  the  as. 

painting^of  DanS  Seso?^'^^^^^^  ^^1  ^^  '^'  ''^"^  ^^  ^  «"« 
well-known  stori  of  a  Z^^  ^^om  the 

of  sanctity  ;  and  who  Th^Uf  ^-^  k  ,^  ^^""^  '^'^'^  ^"  ^he  odour 
service  of^the'dldaroutfhster^^^^^^^^^  -re  chanting  the 
was  said  to  have  suddenly  lif\L!f  V^  ''^''^''^  ^^  midnight, 
his  coffin,  exclaL"g'"2r^^^^^^^^  ^"^  *J-««d 

were  unable  to  wrist  Bvron  fro^  .7  ^"''^"^  *^^^^  We 
picture,  which  pr^duc  d  o^hl  Zd  al'°"r  "'P''^''''"  "*"  ^^is 
horror.  To  indulffo  hi.  hurnn^rTfv  '^".^^^lon  amounting  to 
horses  in  silence  and  r.T  7  T  *^'^  P^'"*'  ^^«  mounted  our 
little  disLce!  whWe  he  ^itttt  ^'^^T'^^  ^  '"""-^tery  at  a 
turned  up  his  lbs  wtth  nn  ;     ^  afterwards  overtook  us.  Byron 

for  th,  fi?srUmo,  tS  the"e  ar?t  "'Tr'"'"'"  "^^''^  ^e  heard, 
one  ;"nd  that  amontltthl^  ^**.^'*"  dialects  instead  of 

inhabitants  of  filers  ennaa^^FTP^^'"""  "^  '^^^3^'  ^"'^  ^he 
as  it  is  written     SHvioS;^;*'  ^^°'"""^?'  ^P"^'-^  the  language 

delightful  of  the  ten  or  tt!  i  T""?-  ^^'"^  ^^  ^•'"  =  '  The  most 
yond  the  A°ps  is  the  VenSan  %!.'^  v"  ^'"^^^*^'  ""'^"»^"  he- 
of  Italy.'  '  They  have  thpn«  ^^  Venetians  are  the  French 
replied  Pelliro  •  ♦ »  ?k  "'  ^^""^  ''^"^''^  P<>«t  living  ?'-'  Yee  » 
not  luowed  t^  be  ^rforZ',"!  ^''''  ^'''  ''  '"^  comedies  a'e 
of  satirTs!  The  Tame  of  thf,' hT^kTa  1  '^'"^  ""^«^  '^'  ^^'^ 
every  six  rnontL,bnhe  governor wJ  ''''V'  Buratti;  and 
one  of  the  prisons  ofvlSI^J  ^''•.  ^^  P*7«  *  ^^^'t  to 


'ifi 


248 


APPENDIX. 


of  big  works  in  print  would  infallibly  lead  to  the  gratification 
of  his  desires ;  and  besides,  where  could  a  printer  be  found 
hardy  enough  to  run  his  share  of  the  risk  ?  An  incomplete 
manuscript  of  Buratti  cost  from  three  to  four  sequins.  The 
next  day,  the  charming  Comtessina  N.  was  kind  enough  to 
lend  her  collection  to  one  of  our  party.  Byron,  who  imagined 
himself  an  adept  in  the  language  of  Dante  and  Ariosto,  was  at 
first  rather  puzzled  by  Buratti's  manup-^ripts.  We  read  over 
,  with  him  some  of  Goidoni's  comedies,  which  enabled  him  at 

Pf]  last  to  comprehend  Buratti's  satires.  One  of  our  Italian  friends 

was  even  immoral  enough  to  lend  him  a  copy  of  BaiFo's  sonnets. 
What  a  crime  this  had  been  in  the  eyes  of  Southey !  What  a 
pity  he  was  not,  at  an  early  period,  made  acquainted  with  the 
atrocious  deed  I  I  persist  in  thinking,  that  for  the  composition 
of  Boppo,  and  subsequently  of  Don  Juan,  Byron  was  indebted 
to  the  reading  of  Buratti's  poetry.  Venice  is  a  distinct  world, 
of  which  the  gloomy  society  of  the  rest  of  Europe  can  form  no 
conception  :  care  is  there  a  subject  of  mockery.  The  poetry 
of  Buratti  always  excites  a  sensation  of  enthusiastic  delight  in 
the  breasts  of  the  Venetian"  populace.  Never,  in  my  presence, 
did  black  and  white,  as  the  Venitians  themselves  say,  produce 
a  similar  eftecu  Here,  however,  I  ceased  to  act  the  part  of 
an  eye-witjiess,  and  here,  consequently,  I  close  my  narrative." 

XXXIl. 

Letter  from  Fletcher^  Lord  Byrori's  valet,  to  Dr.  Kennedy. 

"Lazaretto,  Zante,  May  19,  1824. 
•'  Honoured  Sir, — I  am  extremely  sorry  I  have  not  had  it  in 
my  power  to  answer  the  kind  letter  with  which  you  have  ho- 
noured me,  before  this ;  being  so  very  unwell,  and  so  much 
hurt  at  the  severe  loss  of  my  much-esteemed  and  ever-to-be- 
lamented  lord  and  master.  You  wish  me.  Sir,  to  give  you 
some  information  in  respect  to  my  Lord's  manner  and  mode 
of  life  after  his  departure  from  Cephalonia,  which,  I  am  very 
happy  to  say,  was  that  of  a  good  Christian  ;  and  one  who  fears 
and  serves  God,  in  doing  all  the  good  that  lay  in  his  power, 
and  avoiding  all  evil.  And  his  charity  was  always  without 
bounds;  for  his  kind  and  generous  heart  could  not  see  nor 
hear  of  misery,  without  a  deep  sigh,  and  striving  in  which 
way  he  could  serve  and  soften  misery,  by  his  liberal  hand,  in 
the  most  eifectual  manner.  Were  I  to  mention  one  hundredth 
na-rt  of  the  tnost  "pneroiis  acts  of  charitVi  it  would  fill  a  VO" 
lume.  And,  in  regard  to  religion,  I  have  every  reason  to 
think  tlte  world  has  been  much  (o  blame  in  judging  too  rashly 
on  this  most  serious  and  important  subject ;  for,  in  the  course 
'  of  my  long  services,  more  than  twenty  years,  I  have  always, 


d  to  the  gratification 
I  a  printer  be  found 
sk?  An  incomplete 
)  four  sequins.  The 
was  Icind  enough  to 
Jyron,  who  imagined 
)  and  Ariosto,  was  at 
ipts.  We  read  over 
hich  enabled  him  at 
of  our  Italian  friends 
py  of  BafFo's  sonnets, 
f  Southey !  What  a 
acquainted  with  the 
t  for  the  composition 
Byron  was  indebted 
e  is  a  distinct  world, 
Europe  can  form  no 
ickery.  The  poetry 
ithusiastic  delight  in 
ver,  in  my  presence, 
tnselves  say,  produce 
sd  to  act  the  part  of 
close  my  narrative.'' 

t,  to  Dr.  Kennedy. 

ite,  May  19, 1894. 

I  have  not  had  it  in 
which  you  have  ho- 
nwell,  and  so  much 
med  and  ever-to-be- 
ne,  Sir,  to  give  you 
3  manner  and  mode 
a,  which,  I  am  very 

;  and  one  who  fears 
it  lay  in  his  power, 
was  always  without 
t  could  not  see  nor 
I  striving  in  which 

his  liberal  hand,  in 
ntion  one  hundredth 
V.  it  WQ'.iId  fill  a  vo* 
Lve  every  reason  to 
a  judging  too  rashly 
!t ;  for,  in  the  course 
Jars,  I  have  always, 


APPENDIX. 


349 


to  speak  to  facts  which  I  havrmanTtim:  '"^f  ''  ^"  "^^  ^"'^^ 
versations  which  I  have  had  on  T/^  witnessed,  and  con. 
Lord  has  more  than  on^  asked  ™i  '"^J'"*  -^^  ''^''^ion.  My 
"hip's  life,  whetherVthTuSt  hir^  -""^  °^'"'°''  ^"  ^'^  ^°^^ 
the  daily  papers,  as  one  devo L  7reIio?T'"i'^  ^"  ^'"^  °f 
base  to  mention.     Mv  Lord  mnr  ^®^'Sr'°"' «^c.  &c.— words  too 

you  are  what,  at  leasltey'cTl7rChH?''^'  '?''*=^^'-'  '  ^^^^ 
exactly  what  they  say  of  ^e  "  r?„?H  ?t"'.*^°  ^^^  ^'^'"'^  "« 
toojust  reasons  to^beliieotWis' Ml  ;V;  "°*'  ^^^  '  ^^^ 
subject,  saying,  '  I  suppose  becTuse  lin  ""'^"^  °"'  °"  *'"« 

I  cannot  any  longer  be  rChSian  '  h^°.  T  ^°i^  *^'"  ^^^''^^^ 
I  man  must  be  a  ffreat  beast  whn    '    ^[  1^^  '^'^)  moreover,  a 
without  being  alfa^s  in  the  Thurch'"?  fl  h  ^  ^°"^  ^^'^^^'^^ 
inferior  in  retard  to  mv  duL  tn  r  ^'^  ^*''  ""^'self  I  am  not 

no  good,  I  do^no  harmf  whkh  I  am  ^  '^*'f '"'  ^^^  '^^  ^^^  ^o 
I  churchmen.'  At  anoTherimP  T  """'^.^  ''^""^'^  '^7  of  all 
Friday,  I  at  the  mZent  not  remiji!'"""'*''''  ''  '^«"'  being  a 
'Will  you  h-..e  a  fine^a^orESf ' '''m' V^  T^  ^'''^ 
anger  replied,  '  Is  „ot  this  Fr£  M,!fJ  ^/  ^^''d'  half  in 
tremely  loot  to  your  duty  o  make  i.h  ^°"  ^^  '°  ^^- 

the  same  time  savin?  ♦  A  m^  fh„*  ^  '^'^"^'*  *°  ^e!'  At 
as  a  Christian  ;  /hf ;annoT  ?o  rnn  T  '■  ""'^f*  ^""'S^'  ^  duty 
self  of  these  iuxuriel  Is  nn  'nn  ^^l '"  '^^^"'  f«rbid  him. 

tian.'    And  I  Z  tmly  say  irthTf ''f  *^  ^  ^^"^^  ^  ChrS. 
wards,  his  Lordshjp  XyTlIf   ttf  d    "'^^'^  ^^^^  ^"d  "P- 
abstinence;  and  many  more  and  t       7  ^^^'^  ^^'  ^  ^ay  of 
religious  mind,  than  Have  mentTord  ^'T?^/^  proofs  ^f  a 
find  it  requisite  to  the  memorv  nf         V  ''^'''^  hereafter,  if  I 
edly  explain  to  you     Ym,  Si J^       "^  ^°'^'  ^  '^"^^  ""d^ubt. 
rather  a  man  to  be  wondei"  d  at'  in '  '"""f '  '^^'  ""^  ^^^^d  wa^ 
the  Holy  Scripturerwhich  h?«'T     aT'^}^  '^'"^  P^^^^ges  in 
with  co/fidenc'e,  bS^Te^l^i^^^Jtn   Mf  T  °"^^  "^"^^^n 
verse  you  would  find  such  and  snoh^h^^*  ''l^P^^'"  *"d  what 
filled  you  with  wonder  at  the  time  ani'^ff  ""^l^^  ^  ^^'^^"^ct 

"I  remember,  even  so  lonl  K?l     "^  ^l^^  satisfaction. 
Jt  Venice,  ^eyelJTirTutlnct ^^^^^^^^^  was 

[doubt,  even  at  the  moment  when  mv  T     j  '^®'"°^®  every 

!«  any  time  afler.     irthe  year  TsH^'t^'""'  "^"""^  ^^^  ^f^*" 
|ref.atedly,_on  meeting  or%Snl'!!'JJf:f_..«.^«"  "^^  Lord 
pjijou  ine  Koman  Uathohcs'hnvp  in  fkli   '""b^^^s   cerGaionies 
While  at  Nivia,  near  Ci'ce   dTsmo,  nf  J'^2"'"^  processions, 
Ms  knees,  and^emainlTthat  t^Zr^m^^""' ^"^^  ^^«  «« 
passed  ;  and  one  of  his  LordshiK,  Ir'      "  ^^^  P^°«««sioa  had 
h  »wing  the  exampi:1f4ir:;VwI;o^w.^^^^^^^ 


250 


APPENDIX. 


;« 


,■}  4 


violent  reproof  to.  The  man,  in  his  defence,  flaid,  *  I  am  no 
Catholic,  and  by  this  means  thought  I  ought  not  to  follow  any 
of  their  ways.'  My  Lord  answered  very  Fharply  upon  the 
subject,  saying,  *  Nor  am  I  a  Catholic,  but  a  Christian ;  which 
1  should  not  be,  were  I  to  make  the  same  objections  which  you 
make;  for  all  religions  are  gocH,  when  properly  attended  to, 
without  making  it  a  mask  to  cover  villany;  which  I  am  fully 
persuaded  is  too  often  the  case.'  With  respect  to  my  Lord's 
fate  publications  which  you  mention,  I  am  fully  persuaded 
when  they  come  to  be  more  fully  examined,  the  passage, 
which  have  been  so  much  condemned,  may  prove  something 
dark ;  but  I  am  fully  persuaded  you  are  aware  how  much  the 
public  mind  has  been  deceived  in  the  true  state  of  my  lament- 
ed master.  A  greater  friend  to  Christianity  could  not  exist,  1 
am  fully  convinced  ;  in  his  daily  Conduct,  not  onl}^  making  the 
Bible  his  first  companion  in  the  morning ;  but,  in  regard  to 
whatever  religion  a  man  might  be  of,  whether  Protestant, 
Catholic,  Friar,  or  Monk,  or  any  other  religion,  every  priest, 
of  whatever  order,  if  in  distress,  was  always  most  liberally  re- 
warded ;  and  with  larger  sums  than  any  one  who  was  not  a 
minister  of  the  gospel,  I  think,  would  give.  I  think  every 
thing  combined  together  must  prove,  not  only  to  you.  Sir,  but 
to  the  public  at  large,  that  my  Lord  was  not  only  a  Chrifetian, 
but  a  good  Christian.  How  many  times  has  my  Lord  said  to 
me,  *  Never  judge  a  man  by  his  clothes,  nor  by  his  going  to 
church,  being  a  good  Christian.  I  suppose  you  have  heard 
that  some  people  in  England  say  that  I  am  no  Christian ''  I 
said  '  Yes,  I  have  certainly  heard  such  things  by  some  public 
prints  ;  but  I  am  fully  convinced  of  their  falsehood.'  My  Lord 
said,  'I  know  I  do  not  go  to  church,  like  many  of  my  ac- 
cusers ;  but  I  have  my  hopes  I  am  not  less  a  Christian  than 
they!  for  God  examines  the  inward  part  of  the  man,  not 
outward  appearances.'  Sir,  in  answer  to  your  inquiries,  I  too 
well  know  your  character  as  a  true  Christian  and  a  gentleman, 
to  refuse  giving  you  any  further  information  respecting  what 
you  asked  of  me.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  seen  my  Lord 
frequently  read  your  books  ;  and,  moreover,  I  have  more  than 
once  heard  my  Lord  speak  in  the  highest  terms  of,  and  re- 
ceive you  in  the  most  friendly  manner  possible,  whenever 
you  could  make  it  convenient  to  come  to  Metaxata ;  and  with 
regard  to  the  Bible,  I  think  I  only  may  refer  to  you.  Sir,  how 

niucri  liis  i^ururuip  :2;u=L  iiav^  r-.-„-uj-.«  i--,  --j   g 

to  almost  any  passage  in  Scripture,  and  with  what  accuracy 
to  mention  even  the  chapter  and  verse  in  any  part  of  the 
Scripture.  Now,  had  my  Lord  not  been  a  Christian,  this  book 
would  most  naturally  have  been  thrown  aside ;  and,  of  course, 


AP^E^•DIx. 


fence,  «ald,  'I  am  no 
iglit  not  to  follow  any 
jry  pharply  upon  the 
il  a  Christian ;  which 

objections  which  you 

properly  attended  to, 
ny ;  which  I  am  fully 
respect  to  my  Lord's 

am  fully  persuaded 
imined,  the  passage 
may  prove  something" 
aware  how  much  the 
le  state  of  my  lament 
lity  could  not  exist,  I 
,  not  only  making  tlie 
ig ;  but,  in  regard  to 

whether  Protestant, 
religion,  every  priest, 
ays  most  liberally  ro- 
y  one  who  was  not  a 

give.  I  think  every 
;  only  to  you,  Sir,  but 

not  only  a  Chrifetian, 
I  has  my  Lord  said  to 
,  nor  by  his  going  to 
ipose  you  have  heard 
am  no  Christian  ■?'  I 
hings  by  some  public 

falsehood.'  My  Lord 
ike  many  of  my  ac- 
,  less  e  Christian  than 
)art  of  the  man,  not 
>  your  inquiries,  I  too 
tian  and  a  gentleman 
ation  respecting  what 
[  have  seen  my  Lord 
ver,  I  have  more  than 
lest  terms  of,  and  re- 
sr   possible,  whenever 

0  Metaxata ;  and  with 
refer  to  you,  Sir,  how 

Vjij    Vvajnrr   ohtg  trt  fAfflf 

1  with  what  accuracy 
J  in  any  part  of  the 

a  Christian,  this  book 
aside ;  and,  of  course. 


*^61 


?  haTetatL^^^pItrait efvaTs  "^r  '"^  T"^-  ^'^^ 
last  and  fatal  illness     T  ^  '"^^"^^^J^' ^^en  ir  the  midst  of  his 

My  Lord  rfp^':^::  X  i^Z  t'JlT^  t'^-  ^««"- 
posed  a  way  as  a  chiM  «,Wk     *         ■       .  "'*  '    ^°  '»  a"  com 

W  hh  eye,  and  ,l,e„Tnf„f  ,l,et  Jfn    V;  •°".'''  "F™, 
fear  his  Lordship  is  frnn«  "  J^    "'^'",«&ain.     I  cried  out  'X 

«aid  it  was  too  tfue.  ^  I  Lsr  sa v  ^""T'  ^'l'  ^'«P"'««  ^"^^ 
think  my  Lord  mieht  hZ  J  ^  lam  extremely  miserablo,  to 

their  duty,  by  letTin^ood  l  .?"  '"'!  '  ^^-  '^^  *^°'*°"  ^°"« 
Lord  would  not  Zw  it  ai^S  'ZC  ^'  ^'".-'"^  ^  ""'^  ^^^*  '"y 
truth  of  the  real  stlJJ^    I     ^,  same  tune  to  tell  me  the 

that,  they  dece  ved  'me  w7h^rP^;/""'r-'  '"J  ^^^^^^  °^ 
would  be  better  in  twTorfhi  ^  "^^^  '/^*  *^^*  "^7  Lord 
me  from  sending  to  ZanTet'^.t^f'  ^"'^  therebr  prevented 
wished  to  do.  but  was  nretl?K^  l°"'^'r^^^^^  ^^^P^^tedly 
deceiving  me  :  butlda^l  I!;^"^  \  *^^™'  ^  "'«''»  the  doctor/, 

about  the^hoe?  fnori  hYveTonr-f  ?'"?  ''''^  P"*^*^"^" 
ticuJar  during  his  illness  *'J°'^^'^''  ^  8^^^^  ^^^^7  P"- 

-uc^ss'tVegaVrthet^^^^^^^^^^^  ^  -°-'^^«^  -th 

before  the  BrUish  public^  I  .^I'  u^'""^  ^^^  '"^^^  to  bring 
make  one  remark,  and  which  ?  *  ^^  ^""^  Pardon,when! 
forgive  me  for.  when  I  Tat  vnn  T  '"'.'  ^^""'i.&ood  sense  will 
the  wicked,  and  in  nartir^TJ^  t''''  ^°°  "^^^  *h«  ^''"guf'^  of 
would  be  to  bring  in^o^r^^^^^^^^^  ^''l'^  ^P^  ^°^  Sl^  «ome 

and  good  sentimfnCf  aS^^^^^^  JaUsof  your  religious 

tianSugJit  to  think  hfsWanH  '^^^^'/'^.^^  every  good  Chris- 
should  be  only  t^  hann^  n  h  ^^^^^^^^  ^uty.  fer  myself,  I 
Gospel.  But  atThis  tS  T  f  'T"'f_.  *°  *^«  ^^^^h  of  the 
more  harm  than  Zd  1  '  u-  ?•'  '*  '^""''^  ^^  ^'"'^S  my  Lord 
was  converted  v.Stnfr.^''^"^  '°  *^''  ^'^^''^  that  my  Lord 
arrived;  bui  fl  ^e  ^in^e  It/^''"'  °/-''^i^^°"  "3^  Lor/neve? 
religion;  people  of  wZtever  TpI?  •  ^"!k^  *°  ^°*^  ^^"^^^^  '^"^ 
none  more,  or  more  iustiv  i  ^'°"  ^u'^  "^^^^t  '^'  ^^^  to 
remain,  hoioureTsir^  W  fh  thT'"^;  *^^"  ^'*-  Kennedy.~I 
obedient  and  very  hiSibfe  Lva„tr''''*  '"'^"''  ^'"  "~' 

"  Dr.  Kennedy.  &c.  &c.  Ceplff,.  ^"^^  ^"=^<'«^'^- 

XXXIIL 

^^        ^  l^e«er/rom  Zorrf  Byron  to  Yusuff  Pashaw. 

»estt^of"mbrwe,:Tmllf '^    J  ^^^"'^  -^   "o™*  <J- 
and  released  ^y  ord^^  oTytf^reritv^:^^^^^^^^ 


252 


APrENDIlC. 


.!»«! 


IXt 


you,  not  for  liberating  the  vessel,  which,  carrying  a  neutraf 
flag,  and  being  under  British  protection,  no  one  had  a  right  to 
detain,  but  for  having  treated  my  friends  with  so  much  kind- 
nesa  while  they  were  in  your  hands. 

"  In  the  hope,  therefore,  that  it  may  not  be  altogether  dis- 
pleasing  to  your  Highness,  I  have  requested  the  governor  of 
this  place  to  release  four  Turkish  prisoners,  and  he  has  hu- 
manely  consented  to  do  so.  I  lose  no  time,  therefore,  in  sending 
them  back,  in  order  to  make  as  early  a  return  as  I  could  for 
your  courtesy  on  the  late  occasion.  These  prisoners  are  libe- 
raved  without  any  conditions  ;  but  sliould  the  circumstance  find 
a  place  in  your  recollection,  I  venture  to  beg  thnt  your  High< 
ness  will  treat  such  Greeks  us  may  hencetbrtli  fall  into  your 
hands  with  humanity ;  more  especially  since  the  horrors  of 
war  are  sufficiently  great  in  themselves,  without  being  aggra- 
rated  by  wanton  cruelties  on  either  side. 

"  (Si  gned)  Noel  B  y  ron. 

MisBolonghi,  23d  January,  1824." 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY. 

Thb  figure  which  this  ancient  edifice  cuts  in  the  memoirs, 
aa  well  as  in  the  works  of  the  poet,  and  having  given  a  view 
of  it  in  the  vignette,  make  it  almost  essential  that  this  work 
should  contain  some  account  of  it.  I  am  indebted  to  Lake's 
Life  of  Lord  Byron  for  the  following  particulars ; 

"  This  Abbey  was  founded  in  the  year  1170,  by  Henry  XL, 
as  a  Priory  of  Black  Canons,  and  dedicated  to  the  Vi.gin  Mary. 
It  continued  in  the  family  of  the  Byrons  until  the  time  of  our 
poet,  who  sold  it  first  to  Mr.  Claughton,  for  the  sum  of  I40,0r'0i!. 
and  on  that  gentleman's  not  being  able  to  fulfil  the  agreement, 
and  paying  20,000Z.  of  a  forfeit,  it  was  afterwards  sold  to  an- 
other person,  and  Thost  of  the  money,  vested  in  trustees,  for  the 
jointure  of  Lady  Byron.  The  greater  part  of  the  edifice  still 
remains.  The  present  possessor.  Major  Wildman,  is,  with 
genuine  taste,  repairing  this  beautiful  specimen  of  gothic 
architecture.  The  late  Lord  Byron  repaired  a  considerable 
part  of  it,  but  forgetting  the  roof,  he  turned  his  attention  to  the 
inside,  and  the  consequence  was,  that  in  a  few  years,  the  rain 
penetrating  to  the  apartments,  soon  destroyed  all  those  elegant 
devices  which  his  Lordship  contrived.  Lord  Byron's  own 
study  was  a  neat  little  apartment,  decorated  with  some  good 
classic  busts,  a  select  collection  of  books,  an  antique  cross,  a 
•wwd  in  a  gilt  case,  and  at  the  end  of  the  room  two  fiinely- 
poUilied  skulls,  on  a  pair  of  light  fancy  stands.  In  the  garden 
..kewise,  there  was  a  great  number  of  these  skulls,  taken  from 


carrying  a  neutraf 
10  one  had  a  right  to 
with  so  much  kind- 
it  be  altogether  dis- 
tod  the  governor  of 
srs,  and  he  has  hu> 
therefore,  in  sending 
eturn  as  I  could  for 
le  prisoners  are  libe- 
le  circumstance  find 
Kg  thi»  your  High- 
jetbrtli  i'all  into  vour 
lince  the  horrors  of 
ithout  being  aggra- 

Noel  Byron. 


r. 

cuts  in  the  memoirs, 
having  given  a  view 
ntial  that  this  work 
1  indebted  to  Lake'^s 
iculars ; 

1170,  by  Henry  II., 
itotho  V  igin  Mary. 
until  the  time  of  our 
■thesumofl40,0r<0Z. 
fulfil  the  agreement, 
terwards  sold  to  an- 
:d  in  trustees,  for  the 
rt  of  the  edifice  still 

Wildman,  is,  with 
specimen  of  gothic 
aired  a  considerable 
d  his  attention  to  the 
a  few  years,  the  rain 
)yed  all  those  elegant 

Lord  Byron's  own 
ited  with  some  good 
,  an  antique  cross,  a 
;he  room  two  finely 
mds.  In  the  garden 
sc  skulls,  taken  from 


APPKiXDIX. 


363 


r:;!  :i  z\::iz,^zpr  f  ^''^^^  -^^  "n :  e^ 

fencing.g,ovcs"aTf- Us.'  d'r  tr:a?w'i^  ^'''"^  T^ 
cheerless  kitchen,  was  Uintod  VTnr  l,?^^""  '""P^^'  **"' 
want  not.'  During  the  nSrSo?!  f  p '"^'''. '  "^^'^  "°^ 
in  the  possession  ?f  Lord  r^.i!^"'"''  ?^'°"'  ^jl^  ^^^'y  ^«» 
of  jackdaws,  swallows  and  Ttkn  "'a'  '  •"  ^^^^''^  '^"'^"•^^ 
this  Goth  were  8^6011^^^     ul^^u     ^  ^'^  "^^'-  "^^  traces  of 

and  unrecraimedTsl'JoYl  1  a  e7eft°.^^  IT  ^'''  '^  '^'^ 
of  the  doff's  tomb  n  rnn.r.:^  \     .      '  "'^  '  '^  exception 

recollect  t1.e  latest  tZornh"^  '^'"^  ^"'j^*'  '  ^' "«* 
late  lord,  a  stern  and  des--*  cf  uro  or  ..aprovement.    The 
tioned   by   the  neiVhbo^  rTn        '^''^'"^^ter,  who  is  nevern.on. 
shake  of  the  head  miW,;,?  ^'T''''.  ^'^^°"*  '^  significant 
thing  about  SexS-^r  ^^^^''^l.'^^^d  recognisid  every 
There  still  se^'th.^nL^'?"  ''"  ^-<^dUional  crop  of  weeds, 
hurled  his  ladTin  one  ofrs'fir'%"/''''^  ^"  ^«  '^'^  '^  have 
-rescued  by  the^  hardener    n^         °^  ^"T,'  ^^^^^^  «^'«  ^^s 
lord's  master  and^chas^isp/hfT^f^^u  ^'^^"'  ^^^  ^^«  his 
at  the  end  of^he    '  rdel  t  '  "  ^^'  ^^rUrity.  There  still. 

satyrs,  Jie  with  Juf' oat 'and  Jf  °^°^.^'  ""'^  *^°  t°^^«""ff 
chubby  cloven-fooed^bratnh.^f'  ^"'^Z^"- Satyr,  with  he? 
tionsof  the  narrow  Id^  A  ^  ?u  P^^««t«I«.  at  the  intersec 

with  their  grim  visa  "e/ln"'^,  Pathways,  strike  for  a  moment, 

jour  bosorf,  vWiich  fs  felt  bv  ft  '^'fu^  ^''"^^'  '^'  ^'^'  '^^ 
•th'  oud  laird's  deviTs '  T  hi  ^^^  "^'ff'»bp""ng  peasantry,  at 
people  what  sort  of  n  t»nl^  f  ^V^'^^^y  asked  the  country 

The  impre  s  o"  o/hireccentrt'f 'l"^  ^^"'^  ^''^  ^>^^-)  ^-«^ 
evident  in  tJie  rep  v     « H^f° l?"  but  energetic  character  was 

fancies-he  flag'sTh'  ou^  lai  d'f  ''  .^-^  "  'u""^  ^°^  ^°"'i««^ 
good  fellow  for  Jl  that  "  °°^^'''^'  ^"^  ^^'^  ^  ^^arty 

S'^^sXlltt^^^^  -'-  h^d  visitedNewstead. 

count  of  it :  sarcastic  manner,  the  foUowing  ac 

Th^ tL7tX^eV;a"bb'^^^^^^  ^"'  f^^^^^p-    ^  ^^^^  ^*h- 

church  remains  and  co^nn«.7'  •P.u  ^,'^^*  ^^''  ^'"^^^v  of  the 
J^WyenJ-^^^^^^^^^^^ 

not  been  so  much  unnrnfenl/  ^i!  '^'''''''  '"  '*'"  charming,  has 
Bums,  and  pa?d  ntr^'ofrat  1""  fu''''''  ^""'^  ^^'  ^««t  l^e 
which  have  been  cut^«irfK    1'  ^^^  ^^^o^^and  pounds'  worth  rf 

two  babylrt^  to  "irhT.       ^T"":    ^»  '•'""'««^.  ^e  has  buH 
uaoy  lorts  to  pay  his  country  m  castles,  for  damage  done 


254 


APPENDIX. 


to  the  navy,  and  planted  a  handful  of  Scotch  firs,  that  look  like 
ploughboys  dressed  in  old  family  liveries  for  a  public  day.  In 
the  hail  is  a  very  good  collection  of  pictures,  all  animals. 
The  refectory,  now  the  great  drawing-room,  is  fiill  of  Byrons : 
the  vaulted  roof  remaining,  but  the  windows  have  new  dresses 
making  for  them  by  a  Venetian  tailor." 

The  following  detailed  description  of  Byron's  paternal  abode, 
is  extracted  from  "  A  visit  to  Newstead  Abbey  in  ]  828,"  in  The 
London  Literary  Gazette : 

"It  was  on  the  noon  of  a  cold  bleak  day  in  February,  that  I 
Bet  out  to  visit  the  memorable  abbey  of  Newstead,  once  the 
property  and  abode  of  the  immortal  Byron.  The  gloomy  state 
of  the  weather,  and  the  dreary  aspect  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try, produced  impressions  more  appropriate  to  the  views  of 
such  a  spot,  than  the  cheerful  season  and  scenery  of  summer. 
The  estate  lies  on  the  left  hand  side  of  the  high  nortli  road, 
cigiit  miles  beyond  Nottingham  ;  but  as  I  approached  the  place, 
I  looked  in  vain  for  some  indication  of  the  abbey.  Nothing  is 
seen  but  a  thick  plantation  of  young  larch  and  firs,  bordering 
the  road,  until  you  arrive  at  the  hut,  a  small  public-house 
by  the  wayside.  Nearly  opposite  to  this  is  a  plain  white  gate, 
■without  lodges,  opening  into  the  park;  before  stands  a  fine 
spreading  oak,  one  of  the  few  remaining  trees  of  Sherwood 
forest,  the  famous  haunt  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  associates, 
which  once  covered  all  this  part  of  the  country,  and  whose 
county  was  about  the  domain  of  Newstead.  To  this  oak,  the 
only  one  of  any  size  on  tho  estate,  Byron  was  very  partial.  It 
is  pretty  well  known  that  his  great  uncle  (to  whom  he  succeed- 
ed) cut  down  almost  all  the  valuable  timber ;  so  that,  when 
Dyron  came  into  possession  of  the  estate,  and,  indeed,  the 
whole  time  lie  had  it,  it  prese.  ted  a  very  bare  and  desolate  ap- 
pearance.  The  soil  is  very  poor,  and  fit  only  for  the  growth 
of  larch  and  firs  ;  and  of  tl.  .se,  upwards  of  700  acres  have  been 
planted.  Byron  could  not  afford  the  first  outlay  whicii  was 
necessary,  in  order  ultimately  to  increase  its  worth  ;  so  that 
as  long  as  he  held  it,  the  rental  did  not  exceed  1300/.  a-ycar. 
IFrom  the  ga;  to  the  abbey  is  a  mile.  The  carriage  road  runs 
straight  for  about  three  hundred  yards  through  the  plantations, 
when  it  takes  a  sudden  turn  to  the  right ;  and,  on  returning  to 
tlie  left,  a  be.  atiful  and  extensive  view  over  the  valley  and  dis. 
tant  hills  is  opened,  with  the  turrets  of  the  abbey  rising  among 
tho  dark  trees  bene  h.  To  the  right  of  the  abbey  iR  perceived 
a  tower  on  a  hill,  i  ihe  midst  of  a  grove  of  firs.  From  this 
part  the  road  winds  g^  ^tly  to  the  left  till  it  reaches  the 
abbey,  which  is  approached  on  the  north  side.  It  lies  in  a  val* 
ley  very  low ;  sheltered  to  the  north  and  west,  by  rising  ground, 


The 

reserve 

entire, 

cipai  fn 

Jias  bee 

cntranc 

tJiing  re 

I'aiJ,  am 

beyond  ' 

almost  ( 

Byron's 

ones  in  t 

Bides  of  t 

into  vari( 

jiwr  iiio  at 

mng  to  ( 

Pf  dogs,  a 

Wack  No 

•Wain.  Ti 


firs,  that  look  like 
EL  public  day.  In 
ires,  all  animals, 
is  full  of  Byrons : 
have  new  dresses 

's  paternal  abode, 
Mn  1828,"  in  The 

;  February,  that  I 
wstead,  once  the 
The  gloomy  state 
lurrounding  coun- 

to  the  views  of 
mery  of  summer. 

high  north  road, 
roached  the  place, 
)bcy.  Nothing  is 
nd  firs,  bordcrmg 
mull  public-house 

plain  white  gate, 
ore  stands  a  fine 
rees  of  Sherwood 
nd  his  associates, 
»untry,  and  whose 

To  this  oak,  the 
1  very  partial.  It 
whom  he  succeed- 
er ;  so  that,  when 

and,  indeed,  the 
a  and  desolate  ap- 
y  for  the  growth 

0  acres  have  been 
3utlay  whicii  was 
:s  worth  ;  so  that 
od  1300/.  a-ycar. 
sarriage  road  runs 
rh  the  plantations, 
i,  on  returning  to 
le  valley  and  dis- 
bey  rising  among 
ibbey  if?  perceived 
'  firs.    From  this 

1  it  reaches  the 
,  It  lies  in  a  val* 
by  rising  ground, 


APPENDIX, 


865 


.  «00 

ri.^!^;rS;Si",^  undulating 

the  pious  purposes  to  whff  it  w««  t%^''Z^^''  "^^^^^  for 
^a«t  is  a  garden,  vvalS  in    Z7fn\T^'    ^°  ^^^ "^''th  and 
On  the  «.est  side  the  man  bn  1^  w  th     f  "^"'^  ^^"  "PP«^  ^^ke! 
^en-drive,  and  can  theTefo  e  ^1^0 th  J7  '"''°^"^«  ^'  c"- 
ing  through  iho  park.  Inthi^lT      ^^^  ^^  ''"^^  Person  mss- 
or  fountafn,  of  tL  c;„l"ent  coTeTcd^^^^^^^^^ 
VMd  having  water  still  runnin<r  infn  nT   •  grotesque  carvings, 
w-indov.,  which,  in  an  arSc^^  l^fv  T''^  ^'d  church.* 
servmg  of  observation,  is  nearl?«n  •'^      '  f  '"^^'  '«  '"ost  de- 
west  cornerof  the  abbey     rtZful'^'''^  "'^J'^'"^  '^^  north- 
into  the  gurdcn.  under  the  JlT^-      ^  'T  ^''^  ^^ich  opens 
on  the  nolth  side    upon  a  ra Led  -'''".  '^''  i"^''  ^^'"b  J  '»". 
steps.     The  verse^^  inscribed  on    ^    ""?'  ''"^  surrounded  by 

y;o.U  Rnown,  but  Uio  K  p'oceLTLe',:^'  "^  ''''  ^'^'^^^  ^"^ 
thus ;  .''''  i^rcceaing  them  one  not  so.  They  run 

r^^'^^':::^:^'^^::^^^^^^  a  court,  .i,h  a 

ontiro,  running  round  f he  r<    r  /^      ^'k''"'^  ^''^  cloisters,  still 
f'pai  front,  looks  ove    a  las,  rn       -/^^  '""^'''  "°^  the  p.  n. 
iius  been  opened  from  ?he  urp?'^'""'^'"  ^°  ""  ""^^^  'ake,  whiih 
entrance-door  is  on  U.e  ws^^h  ^l^u''  ^^'"""''^  ^'"'°-    ^hl 
t'urig  remarkable  in  it.  On  e„tc4?f  '''^'^"^'''  ^"'^  ^^s  no! 
hail,  and  turning  to  thn  Lfv  ®"^'^''"f'  '  came  into  u  larffcstonn 
beyond  which  i?the  stai  cil'' T  ''^T^^'^  ''  ^°  '^  -nallertno! 
J  most  entirely  rebuilt  JvCoJi'r  ^f,'  °^ ""^  P""*  ^««  been 
Byron's  occupiion,  the  onlvfeV)^'^^'"^"'  '"^eed,  duri^ 
ones  in  the  scuth-eLst  aS     olTfu'^T- '''''  «°'^''  J 
sides  of  the  building,  runs  th^  JnU      ^/  *''°''*^'''  °n  the  four 
'i»to  various  aoartm^'n""  'irZ^".*''"^^'  ^'om  which  doors  on^ 

:"'•  "'o  '''''=<'n'modation;f7VrS"?.''/lu'^'^^  and  elegan'ce. 
fi-'ng  to  decay.    !„  one  of  the  ™W!..  '^'"  ^"'P^^  ''^^  «^ 


that 
dow: 
256  APPENDIX.  And 

and 
the  Ios8  p,8  of  a  dear  friend.  These  are  almost  the  only  paintings  ous  ^ 
of  Byron's  which  remain  at  the  abbey.  From  the  gallery,  I  rema 
entered  the  refectory,  now  the  grand  drawing-room ;  an  ittle 
apartment  of  great  dimensions,  facing  south,  with  a  fine  vault-  'ize, 
ed  roof,  and  polished  oak  floor,  and  splendidly  furnished  in  the  >lace 
modern  style.  The  walls  are  covered  with  full-length  por-  somp 
traits  of  the  old  school.  As  this  room  has  been  made  fit  for  use,  1  pic 
entirely  since  the  days  of  Byron,  there  are  not  those  associa-  3omp 
tions  connected  with  it  which  are  to  be  found  in  many  of  thopyroi 
others,  though  of  in^brior  appearance.  Two  objects  there  are,Fery  ( 
ho"-ever,  which  dem\nd  observation.  The  first  that  caught  mj^vider 
attention  was  the  portrait  of  Byron,  by  Phillips,  over  the  fireiemaii 
place,  upon  which  I  gazed  with  strong  feelings ;  it  is  certainlypsed  i; 
the  handsomest  and  most  pleasing  likeness  of  him  I  have  seenfoffin, 
The  other  is  a  thing  about  which  every  body  has  heard,  anioor  o 
of  which  few  have  any  just  idea.  In  a  cabinet  at  the  end  o^omesl 
the  room,  carefully  preserved,  and  concealed  in  a  Riding  casebloistei 
is  kept  the  celebrated  skull  cup,  upon  which  are  inscribed  thostfecreaf 
splendid  verses  :  ^     ng  fbj 

Start  not,  nor  deem  my  spirit  fled,  &c.  le  drei 

People  often  suppose,  from  the  name,  that  the  cup  retain  le  uce 

all  the  terrific  appearances  of  a  death's  head,  and  imagine  thu  lormn 

they  could  oetry. 

Behold  throush  each  lack-lustie  eyeless  hole, 

The  gay  recess  of  wisdom  and  of  wit. 

Not  at  all ;  there  is  nothing  whatever  startlinp:  in  it.  It  is  we 
polished,  its  edge  is  bound  by  a  broad  rim  of  silver,  and  it  is  S( 
in  a  neat  stand  of  the  same  metal,  which  serves  as  a  handle,  ar 
upon  the  four  sides  of  which,  and  not  upon  the  skull  itself,  tl 
verses  are  engraved.  It  is,  in  short,  in  appearance,  a  very  han 
Some  utensil,  and  one  from  which  the  most  fastidious  persoi 
might  (in  m  >pinion)  drink  without  scruple.  It  was  alwa 
produced  after  dinner,  when  Byron  !.ad  company  at  the  Abbe 
and  a  bottle  of  claret  poured  into  it.  An  elegant  round  librar 
table  is  the  only  article  of  furniture  in  this  room  that  belong 
to  Byron,  and  this  he  constantly  used.  Beyond  the  refectory, 
the  same  floor,  is  Byron's  study,  now  used  as  a  tempera 
dining-room,  the  entire  furniture  of  which  is  the  same  that 
used  by  him.  It  is  all  very  plain,  indeed  ordinary.  A  g 
painting  of  a  battle,  over  the  sideboard,  was  also  his.    T 

— i — ■•••tvj     i^-i-s  ti^pn:^    ux:yx.'ii\i  ail  utiicis,  ucsci  vc= 


of  tlie  pilgrim  to  Newstead,  as  more  intimately  connected  w 
the  poetical  existence  of  Byron.  It  was  here  that  he  prepa: 
for  file  press  those  first  eflfusions  of  his  genius  which  were  p 
lished  at  Newark,  under  the  title  of  Hours  of  Idleness.  It  \ 
hel-e  thai  he  meditated,  planned,  and  for  the  most  part  wr< 


^  Pr^S:l^Ai^^/^^^%^  had  cdied 

lAnd  it  was  here  tlmt  hkieZerluTl^lu-^^"''^  °^  *^«  '^^7^ 
and  many  of  th.^se  svveet  lci^[^^^  '!':«^^  ^"^  ^^^^^ 

nost  the  only  paintings  ous  poems,  were  composed  rLH  '""^  ^"^  misceilunc 
From  the  galleryri  remins  in  the  sanrC  as  w1o„h^"°'"  •'l^.'"'^"' '^"d  «till 
,d  drawing-room;  an  ittle  worthy  of  noace,  ts"des  he  1^7-'!^  '>'  '^  ^""t«^"« 
Duth,  with  a  fine  vault-  lize,  with  gilt  iwsts  surnim.nf.H  .  '  "''"'*'  '^  «<'  common 
ididly  furnished  in  the  >lace  is  a  pIcturTof  JVIurv  the  JlTT''  ^'''  ^''^  fi^e. 
.  with  full-length  per-  Jompanied  Byron  to  GibrllHr  „t  J'"'/  ^"'^'^"^  '^''o  ac- 
s  been  made  fit  for  use»l  picture  of  Henr IT  VIII  ami  nn^fj*""  ^'^.^  '''^"^  ^'^'•oad. 
are  not  those  associa-fcomplete  the  enumeration  of  allthl^J^J^'''^  '"  ^'"^  '■°^'"» 

found  in  many  of  thoPyron's  remaining  at  the  4bbeV     In  "  !."%TuP'''"^'"^"  °^ 
Two  objects  there  areJrery  curiouslv-carved  mnnti.,  ^:  *  •     ®  °^  ^"^  ''oo'^s  are 

le  first  tiat  caught  -MntlyofolJdate  I„ret^^^^^^^^^^  grotesque  figures. 

Fhillips,  over  the  fireiemained  the  fencing  foils  L?ev?,  ^"^^^^^^^^"eries  there  stiU 
feelings;  it  is  certainl3*8ed  in  his  youth,  and  in  f rnrnl.    /  *^ ''"A ''''^'®"'*''^^«  ^o  | 
ess  of  him  I  have  seen>ffin,  taken  from  he  burial  r„nn,i   f!^^  1^'"*"'  ^'^^  '^  "^ne  ' 
y  body  has  heard,  an|oor  contains  some  spacklTar and  ?i '^^^-   '^^«  ff'-«""<l 
1  cabinet  at  the  end  ojomestic  offices,  and  there  is  «r,P»/rm^-'*^  apartments  for 
.uled  in  a  Riding  casefloister.  where  servFce  is  ^erfo'S  't^^  j"  *^ 

lich  are  inscribed  thos^ecreation  here  was  his  bo«f  n!wf  /   ft>undays.    Byron's  sole 

ng  for  ezerci^,rd  to  prevent  a  S'  '^"^^r^.  -"^  «»n<^- 
^<'-  i«  dreaded.    His  constantTrr  .i      *"-f  ency  to  obesity,  which 

3,  that  the  cup  retain  io  used  to  8^^3  11?.°^^^^  I 

head,  and  imagine  thuiorainff.    His  life  here  w»«  L      r  '  *^''.®  P'^^'''^^  ^'^  t^»  I 

oetry.  *^  "*  '^^^'^^  seclusion,  devoted  to  I 

>eless  hole, 
vit. 

startling  in  it.  It  is  we 

m  of  silver,  and  it  is  &  .  '  \ 

serves  as  a  handle,  ar         •    *  j 

pon  the  skull  itself,  tl  it 

)pcaranee,  a  very  han  '  1 

most  fastidious  persoi  wms  ' 

cruple.     It  was  alwa;  **»«  EITD*  ^       i 

company  at  the  Abbe 
elegant  round  librar 
his  room  that  belong 
teyond  the  refectory, 
r  used  as  a  tempera 
eh  is  the  same  that  w 
led  ordinary.    A  go 

[,  was  also  his.  T 
J ..~ >.-  iu_   _*4.y...*; 

mately  connected  w 
3  here  that  he  prepa: 
renins  which  were  p 
irs  of  Idleness.  It  \ 
r  the  most  part  wti 


t2 


ia^i 


